I realize that, as a parent, I am probably in the minority when I say that I actually enjoy my children's sarcasm. Not when it's delivered in a sullen or cutting way and directed at me, of course, but when they come up with some clever and totally off-the-cuff remark, my heart practically bursts with pride. I may still reign supreme, but I wouldn't be all that surprised if one day my scepter passes to my daughter, Emma. She's 12-years-old and in middle school; not an easy time, neither for her, nor for me. But we'll get through it all.
Whether she acquired this sarcastic prowess environmentally or genetically, I couldn't say, but damn if she doesn't come up with zingers that do me proud. Certainly, she needs to learn -- and is, in fact, learning -- to know the when and where of it all, as well as the to whom, because it isn't always appropriate, and certainly not always appreciated.
Although she knows that I started a blog, I wasn't all that certain she had actually ever looked at it. Let's face it -- your mother's random ramblings can't exactly compete with the lure of Facebook, or the contents of one's iPod. This afternoon, though, I mentioned to her that I had redesigned my blog a bit, and casually asked if she had ever seen it.
"Oh -- you mean your menopause blog?" she answered. "Yeah, I've seen it."
And that was the end of that.