I am a mean mom. Not just a mean mom, but the meanest mom on earth. I must admit, I’m so proud of being a mean mom that I believe there should be a National Mean Mom Holiday to celebrate all the mean moms just like me.
Hearing the words “Mom, you are sooo mean!” might hurt some mom’s feelings, but not mine. Fortunately, there are mean dad’s in this crazy world too.
“Say what you mean and mean what you say” is a quote I remember hearing from my mean mom many years ago. I’ve been known to repeat those words numerous times throughout my life and I will continue to be a mean mom saying what I mean and meaning what I say with my children and grandchildren until I take my least breath.
I proudly “stand” before you today to announce that, Yes, I am a mean mom. Fortunately, I’m not alone. There is a mean-mom movement taking place across the country and other mean moms just like me are saying Enough Is Enough.
A mean mom isn’t physically or emotionally abusive to her children, but she is tough and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound like Superman bring a group of rambunctuous kids under control with a stern warning or “the look”.
Mean moms set rules and boundaries forÂ their children. Mean moms know how to say no to her children and mean “no” without compromising or negotiating standards of behavior.
Celebrating “Mean Moms”
I had the meanest mother in the whole world. While other kids ate candy for breakfast, I had to have cereal, eggs or toast. When others had cokes and candy for lunch, I had to eat a sandwich. As you can guess, my supper was different than the other kids’ also. (Picky Eaters: Getting Kids to Eat Healthy)
But at least, I wasn’t alone in my sufferings. My sister and two brothers had the same mean mother as I did.
My mother insisted upon knowing where we were at all times. You’d think we were on a chain gang. She had to know who our friends were and where we were going. She insisted if we said we’d be gone an hour, that we be gone one hour or less–not one hour and one minute. I am nearly ashamed to admit it, but she actually struck us. Not once, but each time we had a mind of our own and did as we pleased. That poor belt was used more on our seats than it was to hold up Daddy’s pants. Can you imagine someone actually hitting a child just because he disobeyed? Now you can begin to see how mean she really was. (How to Discipline Children)
We had to wear clean clothes and take a bath. The other kids always wore their clothes for days. We reached the height of insults because she made our clothes herself, just to save money. Why, oh why, did we have to have a mother who made us feel different from our friends? (You Are What You Wear: What Your Clothes Say About You)
The worst is yet to come. We had to be in bed by nine each night and up at eight the next morning. We couldn’t sleep till noon like our friends. So while they slept-my mother actually had the nerve to break the child-labor law. She made us work. We had to wash dishes, make beds, learn to cook and all sorts of cruel things. I believe she laid awake at night thinking up mean things to do to us. (Are You An Enabler? Identifying Early Warning Signs of Enabling Behaviors)
She always insisted upon us telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, even if it killed us- and it nearly did. (A Child’s Ten Commandments For Parents)
By the time we were teenagers, she was much wiser, and our life became even more unbearable. None of this tooting the horn of a car for us to come running. She embarrassed us to no end by making our dates and friends come to the door to get us. If I spent the night with a girlfriend, can you imagine she checked on me to see if I were really there. I never had the chance to elope to Mexico. That is if I’d had a boyfriend to elope with. I forgot to mention, while my friends were dating at the mature age of 12 and 13, my old fashioned mother refused to let me date until the age of 15 and 16. Fifteen, that is, if you dated only to go to a school function. And that was maybe twice a year. (Let’s Talk About Teens and Sex)
Through the years, things didn’t improve a bit. We could not lie in bed, “sick” like our friends did, and miss school. If our friends had a toe ache, a hang nail or serious ailment, they could stay home from school. Our marks in school had to be up to par. Our friends’ report cards had beautiful colors on them, black for passing, red for failing. My mother being as different as she was, would settle for nothing less than ugly black marks. (Sometimes Kids Can Drive Parents Nuts)
As the years rolled by, first one and then the other of us was put to shame. We were graduated from high school. With our mother behind us, talking, hitting and demanding respect, none of us was allowed the pleasure of being a drop-out.
My mother was a complete failure as a mother. Out of four children, a couple of us attained some higher education. None of us have ever been arrested, divorced or beaten his mate. Each of my brothers served his time in the service of this country. And whom do we have to blame for the terrible way we turned out? You’re right, our mean mother. Look at the things we missed. We never got to march in a protest parade, nor to take part in a riot, burn draft cards, and a million and one other things that our friends did.
She forced us to grow up into God-fearing, educated, honest adults. Using this as a background, I am trying to raise my three children. I stand a little taller and I am filled with pride when my children call me mean.
Because, you see, I thank God, He gave me the meanest mother in the whole world.
Are you a mean mom or dad? Shout it out for the whole world to take notice saying, “I am a mean mom” or dad. How about a Mean Mom Club?! Yeah!