My grandmother used to get mad at me and call me "Sassy." And I didn't like it.
I've decided "Sassy" suits me quite well these days.And I do like it.
Funny how that happens.
What goes around comes around, though. I now have a thirteen year old boy living in my house. The sassy factor has been growing and developing since around the age of nine. I know you're going to say your kids were born this way, but mine wasn't. I think it's his Asperger's that kept it at bay for so long.
In trying to teach this gangly pubescent boy a thing or two, I employ my best friend - Sarcasm. Michael and I are both good friends with Sarcasm.
A few days ago, Michael knocked over a plastic pitcher from the drying rack by the sink. He kept walking and was ignorant of the fact that he was slowly destroying my kitchen. This is a common occurrence in a house of boys.
I decided to capture this teachable moment in a way only I would do.
Priss: "When I knock something over, I pick it up!"(Insert grand gesture where I pick up the pitcher in an exaggerated manner and place it on the drying rack with a huge forced grin on my face)
He does not miss a beat. With an expression that only a teen could give, Michael immediately responds: "Glad I'm not you."
I laugh.He laughs.
I'm so glad we are able to communicate so efficiently.
Mrs. Priss
