wicked

Yup. That’s me…according to my son.  He’s 11, so that should pretty much tell you everything you need to know.  There have been lots of heavy sighing, eye rolling, and “Ugh, do I have to…” type exclamations happening in our household lately.  Apparently, I am the Meanest Mom Ever because I make him do things like, take a shower and (OMG!) wash his hair!  Perhaps I must be suffering from OCD like tendencies because I force him to shower every two-to-three days…unheard of!

Instead of a dungeon, I have the bathroom of terror.  There, nail clipping is akin to bamboo torture, sandpaper-like washcloths are used to scrub away delicate layers of skin with this acid-like substance called soap, and a hairbrush is simply a medieval implement designed to pull hairs out by the follicle…one-by-one. 

My unreasonableness does not end there.  I force him to wear a coat outside on “hot” 45 degree days and require that long pants be worn to school during arctic blasts when “all the other kids” are wearing shorts.  Aren’t I just awful?

Speaking of clothing…on occasion, like when we go out to dinner or on a holiday, I insist that he wears a shirt with buttons and pants with a zipper.  Pure evil. One day I might even ask him to wear a jacket and tie, just for kicks. Bwhahahaha.

Sometimes I test the boundaries of child-labor laws with requests to empty the dishwasher, put away laundry, and pick up his belongings.  This winter I handed him a shovel and asked him to help clear the front walkway – a task akin to mining coal.  Obviously, I am far too demanding.  Alert the authorities.

I must be slipping in my old-age, because I have lost all concept of time.  “Now” apparently means sometime in the next twenty minutes – except when video games are concerned, then the laws of time and physics go completely awry.

Among my outrageous requests is one that I utter with increasing frequency as he pedals his bike or participates in team sports.  It is with great shame, that I admit that I point out that my son’s shoes are untied.  But according to him, he already “knows” they are untied and stopping to tie them would present unbelievable hardship, because, ya know, he’s busy.

I also have insanely high expectations when it comes to homework. Call me cra-cra, but I have this  idea that it should be legible and somewhat neat…so that the teacher can read and understand it. Wacky, I know.

Finally, in an unprecedented act of cruelty (and to demonstrate my complete lack of sensitivity – earning me the title Meanest Mom Ever), I put my arm around his shoulders as we were walking in the school parking lot.  Clearly, I have no understanding of his life and social hierarchy and was unaware that a hand on his shoulder was the equivalent of mommy giving you a giant hug and big sloppy kiss.

And this is why I’m the meanest mom ever – and it’s only just beginning!!!

 

 

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