Smarty-Britches

This morning, as I was enjoying President Monson's closing talk at the end of the Sunday morning session, Brennen decided that something didn't quite please him, and I could sense the beginnings of a tantrum coming on. Not wanting to sacrifice the words of the prophet to the demands of a raging tantrum, I tried my hardest to nip it in the bud. Looking Brennen in the eye, I instructed him in a very firm warning voice, "Stop."
The command was thrown back in my face as the tantrum escalated. In that same 'I'm warning you' voice, I asked, "Do you want to go to timeout?" The wails stopped immediately and Brennen just looked at me.
Smug and satisfied, I replied with, "That's what I thought." At that point, Brennen stood up, walked over to the timeout corner, placed his back against the wall, then slid down the wall to the sitting position. He wasn't done with his demonstration, however. After sitting down, he assumed his favorite pouting position: his hands palm down on the carpet, with him either bending forward or laying on his stomach, and his face buried on the back of his hands.
I struggled not to laugh as I watched him, but at the same time, I was pleased that I could now listen to the prophet's words in peace.
This just reaffirmed to me that even though Brennen doesn't really seem interested in learning to talk right now, he knows darn well what we are saying to him. Little smarty-britches.