Mason, wearing Poppy's mucking boots. Someone I know wants to be just like his Pops.

This morning Mason showed me a battle wound he picked up yesterday evening while riding his bike with his pops. It is now about the size a quarter and red as can be. James told me that when Mason ate it, he howled as if he lost a leg (I believe it since even though Mason is generally tough, lately when he gets even remotely hurt he screams so intensely that James and I are sure that we will have to call the ambulance for our dying son). While he showed me his scrape, he told me how he was so brave when he got hurt but he did cry a little. I told him that was okay because you can still be really brave and cry. As we talked about it further, his memory of his reaction grew more and more favorable until he brightly said, "Actually, I cried 'cause I was so happy!" What a goofy boob.