Back to regularly random posts!

The nightmare of qualifiers past is over. The ghost of oral exams has not yet arrived and dissertation defense is not even a worry yet.

Before we skip ahead to the “Merry Christmas and God bless us one and all!” let me share the recent shenanigans of Mr. Smarty-pants.

He thinks he’s sly and clever. Eventually he’ll get the message that he isn’t that clever.

Mr. Smarty-Pants did not want to go to school. Maybe he forgot an assignment. Maybe his ears did hurt a bit as he claimed, but seeing as how he spent all evening outside while said ears were allegedly hurting, clearly he was not the sick, pathetic child he attempted to feign. I expressed about half a second of sympathy, gave him a decongestant, and told him to get his butt dressed.

When it came time to leave, my keys were MIA. Last night, after a trip to the grocery store, I set them in plain view on the kitchen table so there would be no key hunt in the morning. I made a mental note and everything.

mental noteNeedless to say when my mental post-it appeared to lie, as no keys were on the table and we were already behind schedule, I got slightly pissed. Mr. Smarty-Pants was the only one who mentioned seeing my keys. He claimed he saw them on the table last night before dinner. Before dinner? I thought he must have mistaken the time, as he fell asleep early and I went to the grocery store. Mr. Smarty-Pants started looking around with me. I looked in all the usual places, and ten minutes later still could not find the keys. At this point I was about one small disaster short of strangling someone.

As I stood in the kitchen, a little mental prodding of my subconscious told me to check the bookshelf. I NEVER, EVER put my keys on the bookshelf. There’s too much crap on there and it isn’t a logical place in my opinion. Still, I followed the instinct, lifting papers and pictures and odds and ends. Mr. Smarty-Pants joined me, rummaging, rather lamely, through the picture albums.

“Nothing back here,” he said.

The picture albums? Really? How on earth would they get back there? I could envision someone moving a stack of papers off the table with my keys and dumping them on the shelf. The picture albums didn’t fit into any accidental scenario I could imagine. Soup King and I heard a little clink.

“That sounded like keys.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” It could have been the metal flashlight knocking against something, but then again…. Mr. Smarty-Pant’s behavior seemed more and more suspicious.

I stuck my hand right behind the picture albums, the ones Mr. Smarty-Pants had been messing with. My hands closed around my keys.

I said nothing beyond announcing I’d found them and then corralled all three kids out the door. Mr Smarty-Pants was nearly half an hour late to school, but with my suspicions, he most definitely was NOT going to stay home.

Once in the car I started it up and then looked at Mr. Smarty-Pants. “I’m not stupid. You pull a stunt like that again and you’re grounded for a month.”


He didn’t even bother attempting to deny it.

When I informed him he was grounded for the day (would have turned into a week had his sisters been late), he simply agreed with a grim expression.

Miss Diva chimed in. “What happened?” What did he do?”

I explained and the looks of shock on the girls’ faces cleared them of any culpability, although, I did not suspect them of collusion.

The kid has gumption. I’ll give him that, but sooner or later I catch him in all his little stunts.


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