Smartypants and the Stool

I like to think I am a pretty intelligent person. I mean, Mensa probably won't be calling anytime soon, but my school transcripts indicate a moderate level of smarts. There was a reasonably good chance I would have reasonably intelligent children, which I always considered a benefit. Clearly I was forgetting that intelligence can often also mean clever mischief.

A certain shorty has clearly gotten my intelligence, sass, and trouble-making genes. This is a deadly combination. As a teacher, I'm discovering that I would probably have had a love/hate relationship with myself as a student. And now I have a love/hate relationship with myself as a child, because this little prodigy shows the same propensity towards crafty deviance. He's done it before, but now it's becoming a habit, this bit with the stool. Last evening it went like this.

On Tuesday my friend made Ben some heart-shaped rice crispy treats, which we have been giving to Ben as a treat after dinner if he eats (I never thought I'd be the mom that bribed her child to eat, but here we are). Yesterday afternoon they were sitting on the counter, far enough back that he couldn't reach them, but within view so he could keep his eye on the prize. After playing for a bit, he said he wanted some, to which I replied that I was making dinner, and as soon as he finished eating his dinner he could have one. We went back and forth for a couple of minutes, then he seemingly gave up and sauntered off. And I do mean sauntered. He walked away, head down, shoulders hunched, slowly making his way out of the kitchen. But oh, he wasn't giving up. He went straight to the bathroom, turned on the light, picked up the little stool at the sink for hand-washing, turned the light off, went into the kitchen, set the stool next to the counter, stood on it, and grabbed the bag of treats. I actually seriously considered giving him one just for ingenuity. But that would set a bad precident, right? Sigh. So I told him I was impressed with his cleverness, but he still had to wait until after dinner. I handed Matt the bag, which he set on the back of the computer desk where he was sitting. Ben calmly walked into the kitchen, picked up the stool, brought it to the desk, stood on it, and reached for the bag of treats. Clearly he could do this for days.

Eventually I wised up and put them on the top shelf of the pantry, which could not be reached with the stool (although he obviously tried), which prompted a face on the kitchen floor tantrum, etc.

If I wasn't so annoyed I'd be so proud. A for effort, kid.