Mr. Mischief

Max Beaty is Mr. Mischief! We never child-proofed with Noah because we never had a need. He never got into anything. Max finds the one unlocked drawer in the house and reeks havoc. My spices are in the oven drawer, cups line the kitchen floor and send me toppling multiple times a day. Its not uncommon for the UPS man to arrive to a 15 month old waving tampons and dental floss as a hello.

Yesterday afternoon I ran upstairs to take Noah to the bathroom. 60 seconds later return to my carpet newly redone is a lovely coating of brown sugar. Today the hardwoods have been designed in purple crayon and currently as I'm typing he's attempting to dumpster dive in the trash can. "Max you are Mr. Mischief!" I proclaim.

And he chuckles at me as he toddles away.

Warning to moms. Don't name your son after the book "Where the Wild Things Are" unless you are prepared for "Mischief of one kind, and another, and another..."