I'm a Mean Mom

You probably knew this about me, but I am a horribly mean person. Especially to small children. I should probably start painting my face green and grow a nasty wart on the end of my nose. That way my outside would match my inside and my children would stop being so shocked at my cruelty. I won't let my son taste the Pinesol floor cleaner, despite the fact that it is bright yellow and smells like lemon candy. Mean, right? I keep telling Stinker it's poison, doesn't taste good and will make him sick, but he knows I'm lying. It's obviously a delicious beverage that I am hogging for myself. (Sort of like the vodka.) 

 I also won't make my son a star-shaped turkey sandwich, because we're having lunch at a friend's house today. His brother had sandwiches made for him. Never mind that he is going to school and will not be home for lunch. Never mind that HE gets to go play with friends today. No, I am a very mean, non-sandwich-making horror. Also, I am no longer his best friend. Que triste. 

I won't buy Mr. Grouchy Pants another new iPod game. Nor will I give him my iTunes password. The fact that I have bought three new variations of "Angry Birds" in the past three days is not relevant. They were obviously not entertaining enough. And the fact that he just had a birthday and acquired WAY too many new toys to occupy his time? Again, completely irrelevant. My suggestion that he learn to be thankful for what he has and stop being an entitled brat was not appreciated. I'm such a witch. (He didn't say that. He's far too smart. But I am fluent in toddler-look-speak.)

 I woke the preschooler up because it was a school day. Even though he was tired. I also made him get dressed, even though his body was "exhausted and wouldn't work". I withheld hot chocolate (a.k.a. Preschool coffee) until socks and shoes were on. And I MADE. HIM. EAT. BREAKFAST. Even though his stomach was exhausted. Mean is my first, middle and last name. 

 I made the Grouch stay at school and won't take him on today's play date. I also wouldn't let Stinker stay at his brother's class, even though he really wants to. To be fair, that wasn't my fault. The teacher wouldn't let me swap out kids for the day. She's mean too. She must be a mom.

 I made mashed potatoes for dinner last night. Enough said, right? No child likes mashed potatoes. Well, mine did. Until last night. I made cereal for breakfast this morning. No child likes cereal. Today, anyway. And just because they ask for it, doesn't mean they like it, or really mean they want to eat it. Forcing them to eat it is practically a crime. Book me, Danno. 

 I need to wrap this up because it's been at least 20 minutes since I had to say "no" or make a child cry. Can't get behind. May your day be infinitely better than mine is sure to be.