Touche

I'm starting to see what having a teenager in the home is like. Scratch that. We've already had a teenager in the home. I'll rephrase. I'm starting to see what having Tarryn for a teenager is like. And I'm not sure I'm ready.

After a very. long. day at the hour of lunch time, I'm washing dishes and have realized that my lovely daughter and her oldest and dearest friend have made yet another concoction using and wasting food that could be used in better ways than fake lotions, potions, perfumes, and recipes only brothers are allowed/dared to taste.
The ranting ensues and as I am in full rant (I have after-all been thrown-up on by my 2 year old) I let slip a very colorful 4 letter word that I thought described her mess properly which happens to rhyme with *knit*. I quickly stopped (even acknowledged I made a mistake) and said, "let me change that." and replaced it with a more G rated word and then kept going on with my tirade.
I was on such a roll that I thought so smugly and ended with the statement, "...in fact, I don't want you to see Hope anymore. Not until you can learn to be more responsible by not making messes that I have to clean up and not wasting food."

"Fine." Tarryn says quick as a fox, "Then I don't want you to see Chelsea (one of my dear friends AND Hope's mom) anymore. Not until you can learn to be more responsible by not swearing." And marched off to end the conversation.

I silently whisper through a humbled-me/proud-mom smirk, "Touche Tarryn. Touche."