Touche Baby, Touche

Sometimes I'm amazed at what comes out of their mouths and in turn what goes on inside their little heads.

"Sissy's being mean to me," the familiar cry came from my three-year-old as she burst into my bathroom as I was trying to get ready for work.

"What did she do this time?" I asked absentmindedly as I worked on step three of my morning skin-care regimen; don't ask me what it's called. I just know what order the bottles go in. I expected to hear something about pushing or hitting, the usual stuff.

"She told me she was going to bite my head off and eat it," she said with grave concern on her little, round, white cherubic face. Her big blue eyes registered the fear of someone who believed what she was hearing.

I stopped for a minute and took this in. Clearly, my seven-year-old was really pushing the envelope with the disgusting threat thing. On the other hand I did not grow up with a sister, so I'm not in the loop about how kids fight. What's normal, what's not? Who's to say?

"Well, what did you say sweetie?" I asked fearing the response might be even worse than the original threat.

"I told her it wouldn't taste very good," she said with her hands outstretched, palms to God.

"Touche baby, touche."


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