Sassy Pants

Not long ago, I wished I could understand my child’s babbling.  Like it would be a little easier to make it through dinner time, or put her down for a nap, or keep her out of things…if we just spoke the same language.  And then it happened.  We got some no’s or “I want that” or “yay, ice cream!” and knew we were on the road to a generally understood household.

Then we got the sass.

the sass is strong in this one
the sass is strong in this one

Not just the slow-as-molasses pace that kids seem to move at when you’re rushing out the door.  Not that kind.  The kind that makes you snap your head and squint your eye and lean in really close and mean-like.  The whisper-yell in the store so people don’t think you’re that crazy.

It’s what really made me know that we have a #threenager.  You know – the kid that’s three going on thirteen.  With opinions way too advanced.  Where to sit and what to watch on TV.

“I don’t like this show; we need to watch something else.”

“I need a pork chop for dinner because I don’t like this spaghetti.”

“Where’s my pink dress?  No. The other pink dress.  No!  The other pink dress!”

And the worst…  Just the “pfft” accompanied with the eye roll.

And my struggle with this is several fold.

Because that’s ME!

I talk like this.  I do.  Sassy *finger snap*. I’m attitudinal, and rightly so.  I’m an adult.  I sit in Beltway traffic.  I have demands that need to be met and stuff that needs to be done.  And I hate spaghetti!  There’s no issue with me saying so.  But I earned the right to have an attitude.  I’m 32.

The hippy dippy side of me wants to allow my child to have a bad day.  To not just give into the old adage that “children are to be seen and not heard.”  Sometimes it’s hard to be three, or ten, or thirty-two.  I know this for a fact.  And it’s something that I have to remember.  But that doesn’t mean you get to mouth off at adults.  I’m not that hippy dippy.

So I had to find some solutions.  Right now I deal with sass by laughing it off {because sometimes it’s just funny} or ignoring it or the well known – “Because I’m the mom, and I said so!”  And occasionally there are even some pops when I’ve just reached my limit.

Because what else is a mom to do with sass?  Really?  As long as there are kids, and as long as there are parents, there will be sass.  There will be eye rolling.  There will be mumbles under the breath.  There will be slammed doors.  {Yes, in your house too.}  If you threaten with punishment, or time-outs, or pops, or ten minutes of yoga.  Whatever your parenting style is, sass is something we will all inevitably deal with.

You can’t spend all day telling them what NOT to do.  But you also can’t let everything fly, right?  So what’s your middle ground?  How are you dealing with sass these days?

{And just because your baby can’t talk doesn’t mean they aren’t sassing you.  They threw that paci down for a reason.}

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Breonna was born and raised in Houston, Texas. She is recently married to Tyrone, a graphic designer. They currently reside on the West Side of this great city. A big fan of movies, books, photography, and Starbucks, she currently finds herself knee-deep in the throes of being a mommy to Addy {Feb 2011}. Breonna spends the typical 9-5 doing yadda yadda yadda at her job {yes, it’s that nondescript and uninteresting}. She started blogging as a way to do movie reviews, but that gave way to pregnancy blogging. She eventually landed her own space of the internet on BreWrites as well as on Twitter and Instagram {@brewrites} where she talks about everything from the sassiness of her child, to the most recent concert tickets she got her hands on, to the occasional piece of short fiction.


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