"Masonisms"

 This sweet little boy makes me So nervous that he'll squirm and fall right through the screen but his favorite thing to do is sit on the windowsill and watch the cars go by. The life of this boy has taught me so much about the way he thinks, the way he looks at the world and mostly, the things I enjoy the most about my life as his mother.

Here- he sees Fire trucks and cars and says "GO! GO! GO!!!! GET to hepin (helping) somebody!!!"

"You Can't SEE ME!"

"Count! Count to 10 and you can see me"

"HERE I AM! I RIGHT HERE!"

(This is also what he says while playing hide and seek when you say "Mason where are you?")

Some of the things he says absolutely crack me up. So far in the past couple weeks he's told me things like this:

In early February, my best friend died. A tragic accident that cannot be explained as anything other than an act of God. As you can imagine, I've had a pretty hard time dealing with this. The day she died, I cried...a lot. And I would stop and then remember, and then start again. As soon as I was done, Mason would look at me and say "You good? You ok? Good. Let's fight!"

He jumps on the mound of clean laundry waiting to be folded and says "I kwimbin (climbing) a mountain. Don't worry. It be fun." 

The other morning he barged into the bathroom wearing a pair of my high heels while Nate was in the shower and yelled "HEY! NAKED MAN! Look at my AWESOME SHOES!"

He's really into counting right now but God forbid you help him or he will say "NO! You stop! I will do it." Mr. Independent. He can count to 13 consistently. After that it's back to 9.

This morning, after being a very sick little boy the couple days, he comes in and says I want to watch Mickey Mouse. Nate says Ok. Get your babies (his 2 favorite blankets) and I'll get M.M. Mason says, I get my babies and you get Mickey Mouse? HOT DOG! 

Tonight as I was doing some homework, he wanted to comb my hair with a pick. I said that was fine and as he stabs me in the side of the head as if he were a 2012 Olympiad throwing a javelin, he said "OH! I sorry. You hurt? No, Ok good. Let's keep going." Notice there was no pause in there to make sure I was ok or that my skull had not been punctured! As if that weren't enough, he decides to switch "utensils" and stab me in the head with a mechanical pencil. That one drew blood and as I'm screaming OWWWWWWWWWWW, he hides behind the chair. I realize this wasn't the most conventional way to handle a situation. So, I stop compose myself. Clean up the oozing blood and ask him to come talk to me. He says "You stop throwing a fit and then I'll talk to you." Hmm...I think he may have heard that somewhere.

A little while after this, I'm doing dishes. He comes in and says "Hey there. Whatcha doin?" I say "dishes" and he says. "Oh yeah. Ok. I just let you do dishes but I don't want to help!" There you have it people. The convincing evidence that says- Men are BORN with the knowledge that they should leave the cleaning to the women. UGH! And if THAT wasn't enough- as I'm writing this blog, that I admit I've kind of abandoned lately, he has dumped the lids and bowls out of my tupperware box. I say Clean this up now before I start counting! He looks up at me innocently and says "I so sorry mama. I nothing to clean with!"