My Sweet Sassy Britches

“Fancy” dinner out. We do this once a year for a special occasion. Every year. It always requires a conversation. I’m not sure why wardrobe is such a problem here, especially with a years worth of advance warning.  I’m nearly about to drop four figures on dinner, so I’d hope you could let go of the fuzzy crocs for a few hours to attend. I’m super unreasonable, I know.

Anyway, this started a line up back up the stairs for those struggling with the, “Please wear appropriate clothes” request. Most let out the groan, one in particular, is always over the top sassy and still learning when to stop talking. This particular day was destined to NOT be her day. 

We have to take two cars when we head out for a full family experience. Sassy Britches ended up in a different car than I did. I trust that when I asked you to do something, you’ve actually done it. I mean you are almost an adult, and I’m preparing you for the world. My mistake. Again, I’m super unreasonable. 

So after an hours drive, we walk into the restaurant, all my little ducklings. I take a seat only to look across to see Sassy Britches wearing a sweatshirt, fuzzy crocs, and one of those bralette things. The bralette is a completely separate thing that I don’t understand. Coming from the generation that did everything possible to hide a bra strap, I don’t get this trend where ones bra is a fashion accessory. Anyhow, all this was directly discussed prior to leaving and what bothered me was that she changed a second time to come up with this fashion combo.  She then proudly stripped off her coat in front of me with the “I see your dress code and raise you some fuzzy crocs. TA DA” Oh heck no. 

Takes a lot to get me to actual full on angry. I raise my voice maybe once a year, if that. Suspensions, fighting on the bus, locking ourselves in bathrooms at school and at home, running away, vapes actually stitched into stuffed animals, probation, on and on and on, I can totally handle. We have a respectful conversation about what happened. Cover all the other choices that would have been better. We deal with the consequences and we love on. Disrespect is my trigger. I own it. Everyone is aware. I’ve learned to let a lot of things roll off. Disrespect is not one of those things. 

I bit my tongue until we got home. Told Sassy Britches that we should wait to talk until the next day. She just couldn’t stop talking and I returned the favor as calmly as I could. My perspective here is that I do near everything for everyone in the house. I clean their spaces, I make their meals, I wash all the laundry, (up until recently and still end up doing it from time to time). I pick up their dishes, which never seem to make it to the dishwasher. I’m mostly fine with that. I want them to be kids. Adulting stinks and that is going to come soon enough. Soooooo, just appreciate all that and respect me. I honestly ask very little, most of which involves putting on clothes. That’s all I ask. In the end, the Crocs are now in a landfill somewhere.

For the record, we did end up talking about which one is the salad fork at dinner. Lots of teachable moments here.