This Morning I Came Downstairs

to find P. getting breakfast in bed ready. (M. who is usually the mastermind at shenanigans like this was still fast asleep.) He had the baking sheet we use for a tray out on the counter (I really need to buy a bonafide serving tray), a coffee cup with an inch of water in it and some leftover ravioli and a fork. Such a smile when I asked him if he was making breakfast in bed. He even got it off the counter and over to the stairs without spilling. Then he yelled "Help!" And when we got upstairs he climbed back in bed and ate it. Wouldn't share with us at all. Is this kid too much or what? The wheels are turning in there, P. I can see them turning...