In a Small Hand

The last few days, Abby has been a bit, shall we say, sassy. She's sassafrassed her way through her time with hubby, Henry and me. Scratch that. She's admirably attempted to be the reigning queen of sass but we've thwarted her efforts.

Last night after hubby bathed both children (love you, hubby), Abby ran down the hall squealing with glee. After I finished putting Henry to bed, I joined Abby in her room.

(After four days of her sass, and five days of solo-parenting while hubby traveled on business, I was a bit, shall we say, done. But I took my deep breath and decided to attempt to enjoy our last minutes together.)

I bent down to help her with her footie jammies and Sassy Sue (a.k.a Abby) said,

"Why (sigh) didn't you turn the lights on (quivering lip) in my room?" (a nice, full-bodied whine accompanied this question.)

I replied, "Please tell me you are not getting sassy and upset about a simple light. You got to your room first--you should've turned on the light." (Pride trumped my frustration because I didn't once utter the four-letter words that begged to be released from my lips.)

"But moooooommmmmmmm, I didn't KNOW the lights were out in my room. It was daaaaaark." She expertly employed the furrowed-brow-big-bottom-lip-and-foot-stomp trio.

Huh.

"Abby, the darkness in your room should've given you a clue that it was indeed dark in your room. Now knock it off and go brush your teeth." (Calm? What calm. Frustration now reigned.)

Abby stomped off to the bathroom and slammed things** and thumped stuff. Henry slept on the other side of the bathroom.

"STOP IT.", I venomously spat.

She responded by bawling.

I left, gained composure and waited for her in her bed to read books. I didn't say another word. I (tried) to emulate peace and love. We read. We hugged. As I left her bed, Abby said,

"Mommy, I want to touch you one more time." I took her hand. Then I heard Abby quietly say, through the night-light lit darkness,

"I'm sorry Mommy. I'm sorry I was so sassy about just a light."

In her hand and from the depths of her sass-rejecting soul, Abby found the right way. Tears welled. Pride returned and our evening ended with the two of us, hand in hand.

**Gene pool alert: In Abby's defense, she comes from a long line of slammers. Her great grandmother slammed, her grandmother slams, her mother slams. So slam she will.