Meanie me

I am the meanest mom in the world.

That’s a pretty hefty title, I’ll grant, and I’d never claim it for myself. Modesty, you know. But my daughter is pretty firm these days that I deserve the honor, and since she claims knowledge of how EVERY other household in the world is run, I’d say she should know.

EVERY third grader but her gets to stay up until midnight. It’s a known fact.

EVERY girl her age gets to watch whatever she wants on TV.

EVERY kid gets to pick what she wants to eat, where she wants to eat, when she wants to eat and how much she wants to eat. NO other kid in the world has to finish her vegetables.

EVERY child gets to play outside after dark. In the cold. In the rain. Without a stupid sweater.

EVERY young person is allowed to determine her own personal hygeine needs. NO one else has to take a shower ever night, or brush her teeth. Especially when they’re just not in the mood.

EVERYone who wants a dog gets a dog. You could look it up.

EVERY student in her school has a backpack with wheels, except, don’t you know, the daughter of the meanest mom in the world.

As you might imagine, it’s not a lot of fun right now being mom to the daughter of the meanest mom in the world. It’s not easy bucking trends like this; it doesn’t come naturally to me. I’ve always thought of myself as a conformist. And now, here I find myself doing things differently than EVERY other mother in the world. It gives one pause.

And then I remember: What I really am is mother to the whiniest daughter in the world. Were I not so mean, she would lose her title. Isn’t it amazing, the things we do for our kids?