Ask him if he wants to help make scones.
Eyes widen.
The almost imperceptible shifting, bouncing at the knees.
Small hands reach out for your face, making contact in a half-affectionate, half-assaulting double-cheek slap.
The follow-up question, breathless and pleading:
Mama … ice cream scones?
No, just regular ones, of course, but now I am on the hunt, boy. On. The. Hunt.
Joy and Woe 
Oooh, I totally want an ice cream scone too! Do they make those?
If I figure out how, you’ll be the first — okay, second — to know!
Wonderful little piece — I was right there with you watching the eyes light up. Do you think he was seeing ice cream *CONES* in his happy brain?
Guaranteed. :-)
Love that beast. When you figure it out, save me one.
Will do, Boo.