Outsmarted

I oftentimes find myself being outsmarted by my kids. Sometimes it's because I haven't thought things through, and sometimes it's just simply because they really are smarter than me.

Case #1:

Today, Matthew was playing with his new Star Wars Lego set from Christmas. It's a big star ship with wings that can open and close when you spin a gear on the back. (For those of you interested, it is the ARC-170). For some reason, one of the wings wasn't opening like the other. Matthew brought it to me and as I started looking at it with my advanced knowledge of Lego engineering I deduced that a gear had fallen off from one of the wings. Matthew went and found the piece and I put it back together, thinking (very proudly in fact) I had solved the problem. But when Matthew started to turn the gear in the back, one of the wings opened while the other didn't. When you turned the gear the other way, the wings did just the opposite, the other opening while the other stayed closed. I started looking over the thing again, trying to figure out what I had done wrong (admittedly, my Lego engineering skills are more mediocre than advanced). That's when Matthew whips out this little gem of advice:

Matthew: Mom, I have a hypothesis. (A hypothesis?)
Mom: And what's your hypothesis? (As I'm still fiddling with the thing...)
Matthew: I think when you put the wing back on the other wing was still open, so when you turn it they don't open at the same time.
Mom: (A little surprised at the logic of his answer) You know what, you're probably right. Let's try it and see.

So we took off the wing, closed the other wing, reattached the first, and voila! Matthew the Mastermind figured it out light years ahead of his mediocre mom.

Case #2:

I was munching on some M&M's from my stocking when Zachary caught me with my contraband.

Zachary: What you habing?
Mom: Some M&M's.
Zachary: I need some (with a HUGE smile on his face and those puppy dog eyes). Pleeaase?
Mom: Okay. I'll give you a few, but only because you are so cute.
Matthew: (running in from the other room) I'm cute too. Can I have some?
Mom: Sure.
Ryan: (waiting at the side) Well mom, I'm not cute, so that means I can have A LOT. (I had forgotten that Ryan refuses to be called cute, preferring instead the term handsome. Well-played my boy).