Sass

There is a bit of Diva in my little girl (that much we knew). There is also a heap load of sass. Where she gets either is beyond me. I am the most even tempered, respectful, kind and helpful person on the planet. (This is going to be my husband’s favorite blog.)

Rosie likes to build towers and then climb them. The last couple months a good “no, Rosie” would suffice to stop the danger and have her climb down and move onto the next activity. Yesterday however she built a tower with a drum and a small cooler, climbed on top and barely flinched when I said, “no, no Rosie.” She turned her little face to me, smiled her devilish grin and began to dance, Rockette style, on top of her tippy creation. Sass.

Today Rosie decided to scale the outside of the staircase complete with a turn. Where was mommy? The Kraken was with his Yaya and I naively thought I could sit for three seconds on the couch while The Siren had free rein of the living room. After a short silence that could only mean danger was brewing, I got off the sofa to find Rosie clinging to the banister two steps above my head. She turned to look me straight in the eye and gave me the raspberries. Sass.

Daddy was out at some swanky restaurant for a business dinner so I passive aggressively took the kids to their favorite pizza joint to score some cool mommy points. Naturally we ran out of pizza, (I prefer to call us good eaters and not pigs). Both children noticed this fact, but it was The Siren who took her half eaten slice, offered it to The Kraken with an adorable ‘here go’ and then pulled it back to her mouth once he started to reach for the piece. Then she looked to the sky a cackled a crazy laugh. Sass.

The Kraken learned paybacks are hell. I learned the teen years are going to be hell. But hey, we already knew that didn’t we?