Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or Smallville.

Author's Note: I had fun writing about Little Clark in my last story, so I've decided to continue his little adventures. Jonathan and Martha are about to find out the hard way that their son is a wee bit different from everybody else. Thanks for reading.

"Rise and shine, Clark! Mommy made pancakes and sausage for breakfast! Yummy!"

Three-year-old Clark Kent rolled over in bed and frowned, emitting a groan that sounded like, "Mmmmm." He watched as his mother opened his curtains and raised his blinds.

Martha Kent was in her early thirties, with shoulder-length red hair. She had always wanted to be a mother, and thanks to her little adopted bundle of joy, she had finally gotten her wish. But things weren't all that simple: Clark had been discovered wondering around near a spaceship after the Smallville meteor shower, and barely understood English. He spoke several words correctly, but was still struggling to string together sentences. More than half the time his parents spoke to him, he just stared at them in confusion.

Jonathan and Martha were certain the kid was from another planet. They planned to keep it a secret.

"Maamaa!" Clark yelled out in protest as Martha wrapped her arms around her little miracle and seized him from bed.

"Clark, Daddy's been up since four pitching hay and milking the cows," Martha reasoned with her son as she carried him downstairs to breakfast. "He's hungry. He wants to eat. Eat, Clark."

"NO EEEE!" Clark yelled. "CLARR SLEE!"

"Clark, sweetheart, we've been through this. It's not 'Eeee,' it's 'eat.' And your name is Clark, not Clarr." Clark knew how to pronounce these words correctly, but still got them wrong often, especially when he was crabby.

"What is with him this morning?" Jonathan Kent asked, raising an eyebrow in surprise as Martha carried Clark into the kitchen and wrestled him into his booster seat at the table.

"He probably had a good night's sleep last night and doesn't want to get out of bed," his wife told him. "I don't know how he's going to make it once he starts school."

Thankfully, Clark calmed down once his mother served him breakfast. "Eeee-ing" was one of Clark's favorite things, no matter what he said.

"Clark, sweetheart, want to come out and milk cows with Daddy?" Jonathan asked his son after Clark had finished his breakfast. "Daadaa needs to finish milking the cows."

"Not in his jammies, he can't milk cows. We need to change first, and brush his teeth, and run a brush through that mop of hair."

"He shouldn't be at breakfast in his jammies. He needs to come fully dressed, ready to do his chores."

"He doesn't have any chores, Jonathan. He's three." Martha didn't add that the last time they had tried to give Clark chores, he had squeezed the farm's tomatoes a little too hard and gotten them all over his clothes. Obviously Jonathan had forgotten that incident.

"Martha, my old man had me doing chores at two." Jonathan stood up, went over to his son's booster seat, and plucked him out of his chair. "Young man, from now on I expect you to be dressed every morning at breakfast, ready to eat. Then you are to report to the barn for your chores," he said to his son teasingly.

Clark simply cocked his head to the side. He hadn't understood, as usual.

Jonathan ran his hand across his son's bottom, and felt something wet. "Clark Kent, did you wet your training pants again?" he asked Clark, scowling. "How many times have your mother and I told you that it's okay to use the potty at night?"

Martha sighed. "Clark, sweetie, you need to stop wetting your Pull-Ups at night. If you keep this up, Daddy and I won't let you have any milk with your evening cookies."

Clark hadn't gotten the specifics, but when he saw the looks on his parents' faces, his own face fell.

"Clarr bad?" he asked quietly.