Smartypants

Not just one, but two smartypants live at my house. I, unfortunately, am not one of them. On Wednesday, we were getting ready to sit down to dinner. Scott was just wrapping up some homework in the living room. I had Claire already buckled into the highchair, next to the table. Since our $5 thrift store table has seen better days (shocking, I know), it's usually covered with a tablecloth.

Claire had already pulled the tablecloth halfway off once, so apparently I had temporarily lost my short-term memory, or perhaps I thought the bowls of soup were heavier because I didn't think twice about putting the bowls down on the table and walking back into the kitchen. Needless to say, it was one of those slow-motion moments: Claire tugging at the tablecloth, me trying to rush over but not getting there fast enough, watching the bowl spill all over the carpet. Argh!

Luckily Scott is slightly infatuated with our "little green machine" carpet cleaner. Bonus points for dad cleaning up a mess that wasn't even his fault.

Also bonus points for smartypants Scott outwitting smartypants Claire numerous times each day. An extra wooden shelf that we aren't using on the bookshelf it belongs to serves as a great makeshift fortress between Claire and Daddy's Lego-fest in the spare room or the open bathroom door (I know, you're thinking, "Duh! Just shut the bathroom door!" But Claire will happily standing behind a small wooden barrier, waiting for you to peer from behind the shower curtain at her, but she will sit on the floor and cry the entire time if you completely shut the door.

In Claire's bedroom, the furniture seems to shift a bit each day in order to outsmart and outreach her. She just can't get enough of pulling open drawers, getting out clothes, books, bottles, etc, so the ottoman and lightweight chair now double as deterrents.

And just today Scott showed me his ingenious new way to make sure Claire's fully hydrated. The small green spray bottle (originally intended to spray at Shoes to "encourage" her to stay off the furniture). Scott, holding the bottle near her lips, says, "Claire, want a drink?" And she opens her little mouth, ready for a squirt. Really. He squirts water into her mouth. I know, slightly ridiculous, but I know you're laughing :)