I take for granted how quickly Brooklynn learns things. I expect her to understand the nuances of sarcasm and grimace a little when she is unable to communicate her feelings and resorts to crying. She can talk reasonable well and I tend to expect her to comprehend our high level communications. And at the same time, I expect to still be able to distract her with something shiny and a "Hey, look over there" once in a while.
Last week, I picked up a mailing envelope that Rhiannon wanted, one of the manilla bubble wrap type of things. I had it in my hand when I walked in the door, and since Brooklynn typically greets me when I walk in each evening, she saw it. I've gotten much better at putting away my headphones, phone, and anything else I don't want her to see before I get out of the car, but the envelope didn't cross my radar as something that needed hiding. She wanted it, and I told her that she should go show it to Mom.
She took it, ran over to Rhiannon, and then wanted to open it. You know the stage when kids are more interested in wrapping paper and boxes than they are by what is actually contained inside? We're past that. Any box needs to be opened, now, because who knows what magical things might be in there. In this case, there was nothing magical. There was nothing as all, seeing as how it was an empty package.
Brooklynn had a tiny brush for a 'My Little Pony' laying out on the floor, so I reached behind her, grabbed it, hid the brush in my palm, stuck my hand in the envelope, and pulled it out like the brush had been in there the whole time. She has really liked the brush recently, so she was excited. "Horsie brush! Horsie brush!"
She gave up the envelope without ripping it up or otherwise ruining it with no complaints, and I was just about to congratulate myself on my ability to make everyone happy while still getting the desired result from a situation when Brooklynn, brush still in hand, said, "Two brushes!" and turned around, looking right where I had just picked the brush up from behind her.
She knew that her brush was there before, and since another one came out of the envelope, she should have more than one.
Then I got to try and tell her why she did not, in fact, have two brushes and that I had slid the brush in the envelope without her seeing me pick it up.
Great. Now I'm the bad guy[1. Yes, this is a Tangled quote, for those of you into Disney movies.], just because someone had to go getting all intelligent on us.