When Miracle Boy was 6, he and I spent a week at the coast. Just the two of us. It is one of my favorite memories. We spent time playing on the beach, going to the aquarium, a whale watching trip, browsing the tourist shops, and generally having a great time on our mini-vacation.
While browsing in one of the tourist shops, Miracle Boy happened upon a framed poem entitled "Mean Moms". After reading it, he quickly and with a grin deemed me a mean mom. I don't remember all of the poem, but it went something like this:
Mean moms make their children eat vegetables.
Mean moms give their children a bedtime.
Mean moms don't let their children watch TV all day.
Mean moms make sure homework is done.
etc
You get the idea. And then the last line of the poem was "The world needs more mean moms!".
Ever since that trip 11 years ago, Miracle Boy has referred to me as a mean mom, almost always with a grin. I hope this means that he understands that all my decisions, discipline, consequences, praise, etc are made with his best interest at heart. I'm certainly not a perfect parent, and I make more than my share of mistakes. But I try to put my kid's best interest at the heart of everything.
The teenage years are hard, even under the best of circumstances. And I'm not sure ours is the best of circumstances: A blended family, a special needs little brother, a step brother with his own struggles, and a biological father with major issues. Miracle Boy is a great kid, but during these teenage years I find that we are butting heads more and more. He of course is pushing the envelope, fighting for his independence, wanting to live his own life. I of course want to keep him close, protect him, try to save him from learning the lessons that I learned the hard way. I cannot tell you how many time a week I hear the words "but it's my life to live, my lessons to learn."
I just hope that during these turbulent teenage years he remembers why I'm such a "mean mom". I love that boy with every fiber of my being.
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