Preach It, Sister!

Yes, I've heard it thousands of times: "she's you in miniature." "Oh, yes," I say, "she does look like me." But it has only been in the last week that I have realized thAT having a mini-me is not all its cracked up to be.

In attempting to cut the sass, I've been implementing immediate time outs whenever she argues, disagrees, attempts to explain (that is, informs me that what I have accused her of doing is not actually what she is doing, such as "Ellie, don't touch that wine glass." "I'm not touching it, I'm just holding my fingers around it in a circle."), or otherwise gives me grief whilst I'm controlling her behavior. I finally had my moment of reckoning when she gave me a look that I have only ever seen in pictures--of myself. It was pure disdain, contempt and loathing rolled into one. She even had the same crinkles between her eyebrows. And then she tells me, "Mommy, Jesus wouldn't like you right now, and I don't think Santa would either."

What? What? I'm trying to keep you from coming down with a viscious case of salmonella poisining wrought by picking up the raw chicken going into the stir fry and I'm somehow offending JC, his dad and the fat man with the goodies? "It's not nice to tell me no." Ok, now I'm scared.