You Scream, I Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream

The boy has always called my mom “Mam.” It started when he was barely as tall as a grasshopper, and he just blurted it out one day: “Mam-Mam.” As he grew and matured, he dropped the extra “Mam,” and she became simply Mam.

He also dropped the Mommy, as he began calling me simply Mom.
But Daddy? Oh, that one’s still stuck firmly in place, almost like it’s there with sticky adhesive. I’m not sure why, but Hubs is still Daddy, while I’m just Mom.
No one ever said that life would be fair.
Tonight, as we were driving home from the boy’s piano lessons, he asked me, “Hey, Mom, do you know why Mam is such a great lady?”
I asked him, “Why? Why is she so great?”
And he replied, “Because she always lets me eat ice cream, even when I don’t finish my dinner. In fact, she doesn’t even CARE if I eat any dinner; she’ll still give me ice cream.”
Funny. When I was nine, that woman would have put the ice cream in a locked concrete bunker if I didn’t eat MY dinner, and I wouldn’t have gotten any at all. Having grandchildren does funny things to women, I guess!

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