Little Monster.

I'm in so much trouble.  When I decided I wanted to be a Mom, I imagined these independent, clever children.  They would play on their own whiling away the hours until they needed a hug from Mom just to reinforce their awesomeness.  That magical hug would happen and they would joyfully go on with whatever pursuit they had imagined for themselves.

I know.  Dreams.  *sigh*

Somewhere along the way I also took it for granted that they would somehow understand feelings and be empathetic little creatures.  I can't even claim to have dreamt that one up.  It's too far fetched for even my dream state.  I tend to stick to dreams of waking up to a quiet house on Saturday morning or a million dollars being given to me by a long lost but very rich uncle.

Lately Bean has been carrying my lunch box into the house.  She likes that is purple and she loves 'helping' mommy.  Yesterday I got her out of the car, handed her my lunch box and went around to get Inchie.  I took it for granted that the lunch box would make it into the house unscathed.

Moments later the lunch box is getting kicked down the stair and around the driveway.  I'm pretty sure I growled calmly asked Bean to pick it up and carry it into the house.  I might have tacked a NOW onto the end of my request.  Somewhere in there threats of staying home while Inchie went trick or treating might have come out of my mouth.  In the moments after day care pickup, can Mom really be held accountable for all that she says?

Bean's brain kicks into the gear (or the threats worked, who knows) and she comes down and snatches up the lunch box.  As she head up the stairs she shouts over her shoulder, "Does this make you happy Mom?"

*sigh*

I'm getting sassed by my three year old.  Not just sassed but cut to the quick!  Time spent attempt to teach her empathy is turned back against me in a flash.  If she can do this at age three, what power will she weld at age thirteen?