Morgan has been experimenting lately with concepts of privacy, control of space, and locks. She's locked herself in various bathrooms and bedrooms (fine if it's her bedroom, not allowed if it's ours; fortunately, our interior locks are very easy to overrule so there is no arguing necessary to fetch her out of unauthorized locked locations), announced that she needs "alone time" in a variety of situations, and tried locking various adults out of the house (come down on like a ton of bricks).
She has apparently just realized that different people are aware of different events based on where they are looking, and has been manipulating that hard to get at things she isn't normally allowed. Monday, she got into (1) some cookies, above her reach on the counter, (2) the medicine cabinet, by climbing into the sink, and (3) the dog-walking bags, kept on a high shelf in the pantry. Later, I saw her dragging the wooden stool across the kitchen to the pantry again, intent on another high-shelf raid, and raised my eyebrows at her. "You keep doing what you're doing!" she said cheerfully. "Don't look over here!"
This morning I recounted that event to suzanne while Morgan was getting her shoes on. Morgan wanted to know why I had not, as instructed, kept doing what I was doing and not looked over there. "Because," I told her, "I have been on this Earth for 33 years and I know what Up To Something looks like."
"Not if I close the door!" she chirped.