Whomever Mason is named after (that would be Dad) gets him. Now. As in right now I am Fed-exing him down to Highland. Tonight cub scouts, new scouts and softball practice were all simultaneous so I had Emma and Mason at Pack Meeting by myself. WITHIN MINUTES Mason zip-crawls to the front for that never-annoying "baby banging on the piano" that happens occasionally. 2 minutes later he is somehow in the front of the room again with his hands reaching up to the platter of frosted brownies right during the Pledge of Allegiance. Yes, the whole room watched as it tips over onto the carpet/Mason's head and he starts grabbing brownies like the world is going to end any minute. He sees me coming and stuffs them as fast as he can into his mouth and behind him. Covered. In. Chocolate. And so is the carpet. That is only the start as he tries to crawl out of the room every time someone opens it and yells at Emma to get him his toy a bazillion times. Oh yea, his command for EVERYTHING (and yes it is a command) is "Mom". But in a LOUD-barking-chinese-torture-demanding-army-sergeant kind of way. Nice.
So why is my cup running over? 14 months ago I specifically prayed that this boy could one day be a toddler and that he could enjoy this stage by being a terror and making messes. I was blessed tenfold. Or maybe a hundredfold. Seriously.
I love that boy.
