I was in my apartment with my two sons. It wasn't the same apartment that I actually live in and I only have one son. We were sitting at a counter, on stools, and getting ready to eat some ice cream. Someone had given us a gift of gourmet ice creams. They were special shapes and flavors. My younger son, not Matthew, was using a spoon and digging into the middle of lots of them to try each one without choosing one and finishing it. I scolded him and told him not to do that. Three of the ice creams were flat and round, like tostados. One was pink. One was blue. There was third as well. They had sprinkles or something like that on them also. Some of them were bars that stood on their side and had two sticks in them. There was a man and a woman to the right behind Matthew. I don't remember what they were doing there. As we finished the ice cream, I started cleaning up and there was a large, African American woman sitting on a table to my left. She had her back to me and was on the phone. She was wearing cultural clothing. I realized that she was about to sit in some ice cream so I nudged her to sit up a bit so I could wipe it up before she sat in it. I was thinking about moving my computer downstairs. I thought it would be a nice change of scenery and I would get more sunlight.