For the amount that I write about my kid, this blog is turning into a Mommy Blog that has no mission. For that, I’m sorry. If you’re here for my deep thoughts, well, you should realize by now that those are relatively spread out and interspersed with fluff. Sorry.
On the other hand, if you’re here to hear about my sassy kid, you’ve come to the right place. Those of you who are Facebook friends of mine will have already heard this story, so you can feel free to tune out now.
On Saturday morning, we ended up in Panera after a surprisingly successful emergency potty run (K was switched to underwear on Wednesday at preschool, and we’re trying to continue it). K loves muffins, and since we were at Panera, I decided to buy one for her for her afternoon snack. After much deliberation, K selected “the one with the polka dots” (a chocolate chip muffie), and we left holding a brown paper bag that held K’s treasured treat.
K: Can I hold the bag?
Me: Yes you may, until we get to the car. But you can’t open it.”
[get to the car. try to take bag away.]
K: No, Mommy, I want to carry the bag!
M: I don’t think that’s a good idea.
K: Can I just hold it?
M: If you hold it, you can’t open it.
K: But I want to.
M: But you can’t. If you are going to open it, then I won’t give it to you.
K: But I want it!
M: Are you going to open it?
M: Okay. You may hold it. But don’t open it, otherwise I’ll take it away from you, okay?
K: Ooooookaaaaaay, Mommy Dictator.
[Helpless laughter ensues.]
I gotta be honest. I never expected to be called a dictator by my 2 1/2 year old. Now, for those of you wondering where she learned the word “dictator,” this is a cautionary tale. It’s possible, just possible, that a certain mother of hers may have repeatedly called her “My little dictator” whenever she was issuing commands. As in, “My little dictator, we don’t give commands, we ask,” or “Are you being a little dictator? Are we supposed to be giving commands?”
I don’t *think* I’ve called her this in a couple of months, but it’s certainly true that I was doing it for a bit. Fast forward to today, and apparently my child fully understood my context and decided to pay me back. She got such a reaction that she’s called me a dictator at least 2-3 times a day since. It’s really hard to stifle the laughter! As my friend Kathleen says, “smart kids means better back talk.” Don’t know how smart the kid is, but her vocabulary is certainly growing by leaps and bounds.
Of course, two minutes after this little interlude, the following happened:
Mommy, I started to open the bag. You’d better take it away from me.
K has also very clearly been showing her fashion sense. whenever given the choice, she chooses pants with pockets and mismatched sneakers. And she looks damn good in them too.
I think I’m in trouble.