I am the meanest mom.My kids pretty much hate me. You see, I am controlling. And mean. And frightening.
I demand to know where my kids are at all times. I expect to know that they are going out of the house at 5am to watch the sun come up at the river and commune with God, or off to swim practice at 6am. By golly, if you dare to decide to be later than you've said, you had better call me or you are in for it next time you think you are going somewhere.
Go somewhere? Well, the answer to that question is "Did you do your chores today?" No?? Well, there's your answer.
Date? What? Are you kidding? You are not ready to be looking for a spouse, and are certainly not ready to take care of yourself and a family and a home. There is no reason for you to date. You need to enjoy life, not get your heart broken every other month!
See? I am controlling.
Who is that on the phone? A girl? Is she your sister? Get off the phone! You don't need to sit and chat your life away with someone of the opposite sex! And I WILL get on the phone and tell the girl to stop calling if she does call back. There is one that does. (Eight times!!!)Until I told her I was going to talk to her parents.
See, I am mean.
There was a time that Kaytlin was so afraid of me that she was scared to come out of the bathroom. She would open the door and I would jump at her and scream. She would drop to the floor instantly. It tickled my funny bone, but scared her silly. She doesn't find it funny, so I have moved on. Now I have two terrifying Halloween masks right outside the bathroom door to terrify innocent children who have, thankfully, just emptied their bladders. (I'm scary and mean, but not dumb.)
See? I am frightening.
I have many other tortures, too. I do not allow fighting. I expect kids who can, to get A's, even if it means taking away privileges. They are never to sass me. New rule, thanks to Works for Me Wednesday, if they are nasty in their speech, they are to speak in an English accent for the rest of the day. If it continues, they have to sing everything. From there it goes to rhyming. If you can't rhyme it, you can't speak it. Oh, the wails when I announced that one. I made the kids sign a family contract to make sure they knew the rules of the family about fighting, leaving the house, chores, letting me know where they are, etc.
I am the Queen of Mean. Times Seven.
Go enter why you are the meanest mom over at Momsblogging.

