mothers on the verge

It’s summer and with a young child, ice cream is a joyful, daily ritual. But as I’ve been shelling out dollars over the past days, I began to realize just how our economy plays out — even with something as simple as an ice cream cone. In New York City, Mr. Softee is our basic ice cream man — a truck that features a smiling ice cream cone with a swirl of vanilla on his head that is a bit Carmen Miranda-looking to me. One truck usually pops up outside my daughter’s school downtown when warm weather hits. The deal is simple — you hand your kid $1.50, and she comes running back with a vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles. Three weekends ago, the little one was treated to a cone in SoHo Vanilla ice cream, please, with sprinkles. With $1.50 in hand, my husband turned back to me and asked me for another $3. One for me too? Nope. In SoHo the treat was $4. Then, last weekend, we all ended up on the Upper East Side — a rushed visit to my daughter’s doctor when her temperature hit 104ºF. Wit