Curse you, Evil Overlord!

It was with a twinge of panic that I saw Captain Adventure seizing the handle of my knitting basket. Because he is two, and two + knitting = disaster.

However, as I was up to my elbows in greasy water (don’t ask), there was little I could do but yelp, “Hooooney…no no! Put mommy’s knitting down, honey!”

But no. The boy was not going to let go of Mommy’s knitting. The basket is as big as he is, but he seized the handle manfully and began dragging. He dragged it right over to me, pushed it against my calf, grinned up at me and announced, “Tha’go!” (Toddler-to-English translation: “There you go!”).

Mission accomplished, he galloped off.

A less experienced Evil Overlord Mother might consider this a sign that He Understands: the knitting basket is mommy’s property and should not be tampered with.

This being my fourth, however, I have a slightly different take on it. Yes, there may be a certain understanding that the knitting basket is mommy’s. But more importantly: the knitting basket is something that tends to absorb mommy’s attention. Now, why do you suppose he’d want to bring me something that would do that, huh?

So I watched him as he hopped back into the playroom, stopped, and cast a furtive glance over his shoulder in my direction. A look of dismay crossed his devilishly handsome features when he saw me looking at him.

Uh-huh. Time to wash and dry my hands, because he’s definitely up to something.

“What are you up to?” I asked him. He ran back over to me, pushed the basket yet more firmly against my leg, gestured at the knitting within, smiled with utmost charm, and repeated firmly, “THA’GO!!!”

Aaaaaaaaaaand walked nonchalantly back into the playroom, pointedly not looking at me. Nope, not even a little bit interested in what the Mommy is up to in there {sneaks glance over shoulder, hides behind the sofa}

UH-HUH.

So I pretended not to be watching him. He peered from behind the sofa. I pretended to be absorbed in the knitting basket. He disappeared behind the sofa again. There was rustling, then tearing, then the sound of something clattering on the floor.

Hmm.

I got up, walked over, and peered over the edge of the sofa. Someone had left a box of Cowtown Cookies in the playroom, which he had found and wisely decided to hold off getting into until the Evil Overlord Mother was distracted by yarn. He had already shoved two or three into his mouth and was clutching several in each chubby little hand.

BUSTED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now, there are several courses of action a guy can take under the circumstances.

You can try gathering up the loot and making a break for it, but historically speaking this seldom works out well.

You can try screaming, crying, and pounding your fists and/or head on the floor in the hopes that this time, it will work. Painful, and again historically speaking…doesn’t tend to work out well.

Or, you can try charm. While not 100% guaranteed, it at least has a shot.

So he grinned up at me, exposing chocolate-coated teeth and dribbling chocolate-drool down his chin. He stood up, still smiling, and pressed two broken, somewhat damp chocolate cow shaped cookies into my hand.

“Tha’ go!” he said magnanimously. I shook my head at him. He sighed, looked down at the box and the scattered contents ruefully. “Moh?” he asked, halfheartedly.

“No. Put them back in the box, honey,” I said firmly. It took such effort not to start laughing I almost popped. He had such a look on his face, the wheels visibly turning in his head. Do I comply, or do I cry? Should I play dumb, or play along?

“Back in box,” I repeated, picking up a cookie and suiting action to words. He looked at the cookies in his hand. He looked at the box. Cookies. Box.

**sigh**

He put them into the box, picked up some more and put them in the box. Snuck another one into his mouth along the way, glancing at me sidelong.

“Captain. Adventure.” I said warningly, the ‘.’ very clearly enunciated. The only thing worse than the use of the whole name is the use. of. periods. between. each. name.

**sigh**

One by one, the cookies went back in the box. Reluctantly, the box was handed over. The Evil Overlord dispensed two of the cookies back to their previous owner (which is my way of reinforcing the use of ‘charm’ rather than ‘throw myself on the floor and slam my head against it repeatedly while screaming bloody murder’ for such occasions) and put the box away.

It was a valiant effort. The Evil Overlord Mother was not thwarted this time, but next time?

He’s using the ventilation ducts.