Bubba has certainly inherited the genes we deliberately tried to wash out of the fertilizing mix with some bleach and a little sulphuric acid. The sarcasm gene, the sly gene, and the I'm too cute to punish gene managed to survive the cleansing in the turkey baster, and we are reaping the rewards almost daily:

I asked Bubba to snuggle me while I sat on the couch, and she came over and gave me a long, huge snuggle. I was very pleased, because I feel as she gets older, she gets less mine and more her own. While I celebrate that, I also dislike it and miss my little cuddle bunny. I released her from my tender clasp, and beamed with happiness when she smiled an incredibly toothy smile. Until I reached into my lap and realized she had only snuggled me to steal the DVD player remote from me so she could have control of it.

Bubba has a list of spelling and sight words she is tested on weekly. I have started asking her to write them 10 times each so she will know them. She did her 10X each on Wednesday, and on Thursday, she asked to have some computer time. I told her she had one hour on the computer and then needed to write her words again. Then I went upstairs to lay down with the baby. When I got up, I asked if she did her words, and Mower said she showed him a sheet with them on it when he asked if she did them. The same sheet as the day before, no new sheet of carefully printed chickenscratch vocab words, I discovered. She got grounded from computer time for that, and Mower and I begrudgingly admired her for the shortcut that we would have done too if we thought we wouldn't get caught.

Bubba asked which president was on the $10 bill. Mower explained it was not a president, but was Alexander Hamilton, who created the monetary system for America that has prevailed til today. Bubba nodded, satisfied, and then asked Mower if he wanted to go create her a cheese sandwich.

Bubba gets a little tired of watching Diego and other such cartoons that Handsome repeatedly demands with the most annoying sound on the face of the Earth. She has taken to singing the theme songs with the word "blah" in place of every syllable, and she gets a look of contentment on her face as my head turns purple and swells to three times it's normal size listening to her singing, which makes Handsome shriek with indignity that his beloved Diego be reduced to one noise that doesn't sound like a cat who's tail just got ran over like he prefers when he doesn't want to talk and just screeches until we submit and watch it for the 329th time, which causes my cells to rebel and beg for more sulphuric acid to numb the pain. She knows that I will send her upstairs to leave Handsome alone, and that gives her unrestricted access to two DVD players upstairs and no one to say no to her watching a Harry Potter movie for the 761st time.

She is a smartass in training, but at least she is smarter than her father was when he was younger and sitting with his older brother at the kitchen table, being served breakfast by their mother. He knew it was wrong, but he did it anyway because he just couldn't stop himself.

Brother: This cereal tastes like shredded donkey dick.

Mother comes up to him and WHAP! smacks him on the head.

Mower: What? All he said was it tasted like shredded donkey dick.

WHAP!

Yup, these are the genes I get to work with. Mine are slightly better, because they got me out of trouble once or twice, so I feel superior. Like in sixth grade and we weren't supposed to have candy but could have cough drops at our desks. The teacher called my name out when she saw me pop some hard candy into my mouth, and asked me what I had.

Me: A cough drop.

Her: I didn't hear you coughing.

Me: Then it must be working.

That was one of the few times I felt powerful, seeing her eyes crinkle in amusement as she stifled her laughter and allowed me to finish the Jolly Rancher. And so began the reign of Peej the sarcastic smarmy bitch. Enjoy!