5:30 AM. I’m awake reading because I couldn’t go back to sleep from our 3AM visit from the 3 year old. I hear the door to his room open.
*stompstompstompstompSTOMPKICK*

The door to our bedroom sticks a bit, but it flies open like it’s a home invasion being executed by the world’s worst burglars.

*STOMPSTOMP*

He stands before our bed.
In the darkness, we hear a low, guttural growl.

“I WANT TO GO OUTSIDE AND EAT ICE CREAM”

“What?”

He leaned in closer, and then head-butts my wife.

“Oww!”

“I. WANT. TO. GO. OUTSIDE. AND. EAT. ICE CREAM.”

Mrs. Nostrikethat is trying to take this seriously, but I have completely lost it and I’m cackling like a kleptomaniac at a convention for nearsighted jewelers.

It turns out he had a nightmare involving his scooter, being in time-out, and not getting ice cream while everyone else did.

Me too, buddy. Me too.