freaking his freak

We've been using a chart to motivate the little man to sleep at night. When he gets 10 stickers, he gets an extra special treat -- which means we are basically his parental slaves. Nine times out of ten, it means a trip to the Children's Museum. Aw, who am I kidding? EVERY time, it means a trip to the Children's Museum.

Last night when he went to bed, he was well aware that he was one sticker away from a visit to the sweet, sweet Children's Museum. Knowing that, he did succeed in sleeping like a big boy. But this morning, he didn't declare his victory over the chart as he usually does. He did not ask for a sticker. And he did not shout it to the hills that he in fact gets to go to the Children's Museum because he slept like a big boy. He forgot.

So this morning, we proceeded as usual. We ate breakfast. We got ready. Then we told him that we had to "do a few things". In the car, he kept asking where we were going and more importantly, "Do they have a ball there?" We gave him vague responses and continued driving. As we neared St. Paul and headed for the tunnel, he said, "This is sort of like the Children's Museum." Then, we turned the corner and he pointed at Mickey's Diner where we've eaten after the Children's Museum, "Did we go there after the Children's Museum?" As we got closer, "I see the Children's Museum!" And as we pulled into the parking ramp, "Is this the Children's Museum?"

"Yes, buddy, YES, SURPRISE, this is the Chidren's Museum! You slept like a big boy, you get to go to the Children's Museum today!!!"

What followed was the most hilarious happy-body contortion. I might even describe it as a little convulsion. It was quite awesome. Now he's napping. Undoubtedly dreaming with visions of George Rhoads kinetic scuptures dancing in his head.