Rascal

Luke is a genius. And not an A,B,C and 1,2,3s kinda genius. (Well, he's that too, ...) No, he's the "too-smart-for-his-own good" kind. He is systematically figuring out how to work people to get what he wants. And it takes everything I have not to crack up at some of his tactics.

He has really, for the most part, been going to bed so much better for us ever since we moved Morgan in with him. But the past couple nights he's been getting up and coming in the kitchen making requests for water, Dora books, you get the idea.

So last night he comes in and I hear him on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"Luke! Go back to bed."

"No, no, no! I just want to give you a hug." (Ahhh...)

"Well, okay..." Hug. He walks away.

2 minutes later he's back.

"Luke! Back. To Bed!"

"I wanna give you a hug and a high-five."

Ahhhh, this is sweet because that's what we do at Mother's Day Out when I drop him off. BUT- he then proceeds to have to give me about 15 high fives because if they don't make JUST the right smacking sound, he deems them as "bad ones!" and he will continue to high-five you until he has got it just right. We finally get a satisfactory hit, and I send him back to bed again.

Well! Five minutes later, he is back.

"LUKE PALMER! That's enough! I want you to-"

"Iwannagiveyouahugandahighfive-"

"No sir! We've already don-"

"Wait! Wait! And tell you you are the best Mommy in the whoooooooooooole woooooooorld!"

Seriously?

Seriously. You should have seen the smile.

He kills me.

Little Toot.