Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Never a shortage of sass

Around here, we never have a shortage of sass.

The twenty-foot sass-o-meter that doubles as a load-bearing beam might as well be measuring the oxygen levels in the air. At least that way if we ever found a way to bottle it at the source our sass might be useful someday . . . oh, let's say, to a handful of electric engineers who figured out how to turn laughter into electricity á la Monster's Inc. or in the form of concentrate, dehydrated into powder, we capsuled, bottled, and then sold over the counter.

(Taps chin . . . hmmm, not a bad idea actually . . . )

Between the teenager—she's had a quick mind as far back as I can remember—and my four-year-old daughter and my three-year-old son, not a thirty-second goes by that not one of them is snapping back a deft snark, or wry retort, or my favorite: outright defiance.

Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I snicker. And, then, sometimes I just want to throttle them . . . but what's the point? I'm not one to teach my kids to be quiet. And certainly I don't want them preferring rude behavior to civilized discourse, but a little self-worth this early goes a long way later to standing up for what's important in life.

We're raising some smart kids. Of course they are. Name me a kid who isn't smart. I'm not saying my kids are smart because they're my kids. This isn't some sort of parental blinder. Point of fact, not one of my kids is biologically mine. Not one of them carries 25 percent of my genes. Cool, huh?

Turns out my boys have . . . what's the technical term? . . . bent propellers? Eh, could be worse.

The oldest of my three kids is my stepdaughter, my wife's daughter. The younger two were adopted. We know the family. We've become very close since the adoptions. We see them as often as we can, and over the past five years we've started to pick up on the similarities the siblings share.

Truth is, all kids are smart.

And some of them have very quick mouths, including my wife's daughter.

On our way to SeaWorld last week, she and my wife were catching up with each other. It's not often they get to do that, now that my wife's schedule has become increasingly more organized and filled with work, school, assignments, and personal time (whenever she can squeeze that in!).

During this back and forth conversation my wife asked her daughter to please hand her the drink in the cup holder. I don't remember what it was. It could have been Mountain Dew, or it could have been coffee, or it could have been Fiji water, or it could have been something else. My wife took a sip and had an immediate reaction.

She tasted hair.

We exclaimed: Gross!

To which the teenager promptly added, "You know, family members are five times more likely to ingest hair from each other than from friends or acquaintances."

Now, I have to tell you she has these kinds of facts at her finger tips. They didn't stop with that one.

She went on to say "It's also 3 times more likely that the hair you're ingesting is not facial hair." For the sake of your appetite I won't disclose what kind of hair. I'm still cringing.

This factoid was followed with, "The average person ingests 13 pieces of hair that is not their own every year." Okay, I have to tell you by now I'm feeling queasy. I'm driving bee-tee-dub.

My wife is going through the 20 Shades of Green now. If that wasn't enough, her daughter says, "So, the next time you guys have, ahem, you know—"

"No! We don't need you to tell us!"


Sassy. Witty. Sneaky little . . . funny ass people.


  1. that is too funny, I have 3 teenagers, who are very smart also. My one LOVES facts also and loves to share, whether you want to hear or not.

    1. Right! LOL. I think their funny bone gets jammed or something. And what is it about their timing? I mean, it's like they lie in wait for just the most embarrassing moment and then spring it! :)