I may have mentioned before that the Little Kid was quiet as a church rodent for the first two years of his life - to the extent that I wondered aloud if he would ever establish a personality.
Be careful what you wish for.
It subsequently became apparent that the Little Kid is the whole package - smart as a whip, but savvy enough to know when to fly under the radar. I fully believe that he spent those first two years developing his poker game, and to good effect - the kid knows when to hold 'em, fold 'em, walk away and run.
He is so adept at radar deflection that, from moment to moment, it is easy to forget just how whip-smart - and ever-so-slightly devious - he is.
And then he reminds you.
As we were putting up the Christmas tree Saturday evening, I muttered my displeasure at having to tether the tree top to a plant hook with fishing line in order to keep the canines and felines from tumping it over. I referred to said canines as "hell hounds" and then opined that the Big Kid's cat (our twenty-pound Maine Coon) was an honorary hell hound.
Big Kid responded, "Max is NOT an H-hound."
Me: You know, it's sweet that you are going out of your way NOT to swear in front of me, but it's actually okay to say a word that would otherwise be a swear if you are using it in a Biblical, mythological or literary capacity.
Little Kid: Moby Dick.
Me: Huh?
Little Kid (wearing a highly satisfied grin): Moby. DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICK.
Ever have one of those moments when you can't decide whether to paddle your child or high-five him?
Like I said: whip-smart. And ever-so-slightly devious.
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