Mean Mommy

Mean Mommy
Originally Published: May 25, 2016
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It’s no secret that at some point in your job as a mom you will for sure be called “The Meanest Mom in the Whole World.” That’s because you probably are mean—at least in the eyes of your kids.
But what good, mean moms know best is that sometimes being mean is the thing that helps our kids grow up to be respectful, decent humans .
I don’t know about you, but I’d rather be called a mean mom than a pushover any day of the week. And if you’re not mean from time to time, you just aren’t doing it right.
So, here are 10 things mean moms have in common:
Much to the dismay of my firstborn who is now 9 years old, I’m so mean that sometimes I make my kids wipe the counter and clean up their own crumbs. If they walk around while simultaneously destroying the kitchen by eating cookies because they are doing jumping jacks, they will have to get out the vacuum and clean it up.
Forgot your homework? That’s fine the first time, but the next time, sorry. You’ll have to turn it in late. And I’m so mean that if I catch my kids in a lie, there is a punishment. If they break something, they have to make it right. In other words, I’m so mean, my kids have to be accountable for their actions.
While wearing a jacket seems like some sort of corporal punishment to my kids, I’m actually just trying to keep them warm, which means I’m also the meanest mom ever. I even take it so far as to make them wear clothes without stains and holes. Some days I even make them wear socks.
I’m so mean, my kids know it’s not my job to entertain them. Yes, we do fun stuff together, but sometimes I say no, and they have to use their imaginations. Sometimes, if I’m feeling really mean, they get shooed outside so I can have some peace and quiet.
While kids in 2016 think they deserve a cell phone at the ripe old age of 8 years old, mean moms know better. We let them know that they have to earn that right, and they also need to have a few more years of existence before that’s going to happen. When I wanted to start driving, my dad said, “Get a job.” I’m so mean, my kids won’t get something just because they want it. They have to earn it—good grades, good behavior, whatever. Nothing is free when you’re a mean mom.
Mean moms love to make their kids do chores. We don’t even pay them for it sometimes. Instead, our kids learn that being in a family means everyone chips in. And that means sometimes they don’t get to play until they finish their work.
Mean moms know their kids best. We aren’t afraid to say no even when other parents are saying yes. Your friend got to go to a midnight showing of the latest action movie at 8 years old? Good for him. But we have different rules. What works for another family may not work for us, and mean moms don’t care what other moms are doing.
We also make them finish their dinner, and say no to snacks when they eat one-and-a-half bites. I know it sounds awful because it would be a tragedy for my kid to have to eat a vegetable, but mean moms know that sometimes you just have to eat something green to get a little Red Dye #40 in your diet.
When they throw a massive tantrum, or are screaming because they didn’t get their way, mean moms walk away and ignore it. If they keep begging, we’re experts at locking ourselves in a closet and pretending they aren’t there. And if they start banging on the door, we put on our headphones.
By definition, mean moms don’t put up with any crap. And the world doesn’t revolve around our kids. OK, it kind of does, but we don’t need to let them know that, do we? Of course we don’t. Because we’re the meanest moms ever. And we kinda like it that way.
This article was originally published on May 25, 2016

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Call me crazy, but moms are becoming nicer. There used to be a time when kids could spend hours regaling one another with mean mom stories. I know it used to be a favorite pastime of mine.
“My mom is the meanest. Listen to this …” I brushed aside my big ‘80s feathered hair for emphasis. “She wouldn’t let me come over today until after my homework was finished and after I cleaned the kitchen,” I complained to my girlfriend.
“If you think your mom is mean, Joanne, listen to this one …”
Legendary stories have gathered over time—too many to recount. My parenting style has been molded and shaped by them. As far as I was concerned, my mom was the meanest of all. She wanted to know who my friends were and what I was watching on TV. She upheld curfews, expected me to do well in school, and paid close attention to what I wore.
I was hoping to slip out the front door before my parents caught a glimpse of my outfit. I was a typical 16-year-old, and I just knew they wouldn’t be able to hear the whisper of “cool” announcing my presence. Nor would they understand that my black stretch pants made a statement.
Unfortunately, I had never learned the art of Navy SEAL stealth operations, and my mom intercepted my exit. “Sweetheart, what are you wearing?”
Questions asking the obvious are the bane of every teenager’s existence. “Black pants,” I blurted, searching for an escape route.
“Those are not black pants. Those are skintight.” She called for backup. “George!”
Dad is a former U.S. Marine, so I knew he would be up for a battle. I would lose this skirmish. Mom would make sure of it.
“What in the world are those?” He looked down at my legs, his face scrunched up as if he were in the presence of something extraterrestrial.
My earlier confidence squeaked out as a pathetic question hoping for approval. “Black pants?”
With Dad as her wingman, my one-and-only “mean mom” began her rant: “No daughter of mine …”
Yep, here we go. The “no daughter of mine” speech.
As you can imagine, my response was predictable. I stomped off to my room and whimpered over my shoulder, “Mom. You are so mean !” Needless to say, I never left the house in those skintight stretch pants.
Fast-forward 30 years. Yesterday, while at church, this memory came rushing back. The beautiful young singer on stage seemed to have discovered my thigh-strangling pants from my teenage years. Her parents are apparently much nicer than mine and let her leave the house.
I debated with myself, Poor thing. Does she realize how skintight those are? Is that what I looked like 30 years ago? Stop it, Joanne, you’re being old-fashioned. Those pants are in style again.
My thoughts were interrupted by my extremely cool 17-year-old son. Right in the middle of a worship song, he leaned down and whispered to my ear, “That girl should not be wearing those pants.” Once again, confirmation that my very own mean mom had been right.
The definition of the word mean is to be unkind or malicious. Though you might cringe at being defined this way, it’s exactly how your children feel you are behaving when you keep them from what they want, enforce daily chores, or thwart their Friday night plans.
This is the moment the parent-child language barrier begins. You see, a mean mom defines the word mean quite a bit differently.
A mean mom keeps her word when it’s hard.
A mean mom gives, models, and expects respect.
A mean mom knows her child’s friends and where they live.
A mean mom instills dinner times, bedtimes, and curfews.
A mean mom treads water longer than her child can make it rain.
A mean mom never makes excuses for her child’s strengths or weaknesses.
A mean mom doesn’t let her own fears overrule her child’s freedoms.
A mean mom sees the adult her child can be and inspires until he or she catches the vision.
A mean mom asks for forgiveness for her mistakes.
A mean mom loves passionately, encourages openly, and behaves righteously.
And if she’s married a mean mom puts her husband before her child.
In the context of mean mom, the word mean can be defined much differently between mom and child. So begins the expansion of that communication gap you’ve heard about. What a son or daughter sees as malicious or unkind, a mean mom sees as keeping protective boundaries and inspiring good character traits, so she makes no excuses for uncomfortable situations that are fueled by a loving boundary.
Children don’t understand boundaries as being helpful or for their lasting good. Their minds can’t wrap around anything more than their immediate wants and needs at this very nanosecond. This is where mean moms dig in and remember they are training each little one to overcome obstacles, never quit, and never, ever give up.
A mean mom’s mission statement is this: I’m not raising a child. I’m raising an adult. This mission statement becomes her mantra and reminds her of the ultimate goal: to work herself out of a job.
When I shared my idea of a mean mom book with a friend, she expressed concern, “My mom was incredibly mean. Not the mean you’re talking about. She was so disciplined and hurtful. The scars she’s left affect me still. She’s the reason I’m such a pushover with my girls today. I tend to be a marshmallow mom. I know I need to be better at keeping boundaries, but I’m so afraid I’ll become like my mother that I cave every time. I don’t want my kids to hate me like I hated my mom.”
It’s sadly true. There are moms who have a genetic mean streak. Oftentimes victims of their own parents’ physical or emotional abuse, they pass on discouragement and warped parenting disciplines that mold their children in painful ways.
Let me be very clear here. This is not the kind of mean I’m talking about. The mean mom I’m talking about loves her children more than she disciplines them. Joy is what permeates her home, and faith is the foundation and the groundwork she is laying.
Even when a mother is kind, caring, and understanding, she looks mean to her children when she lays down a boundary or rule. What is considered mean in the eyes of a 4-year-old is considered wise in the eyes of a 40-year-old. This is the kind of mean I mean.
Ask most adults over the age of 30 if their parents were mean, and you’ll get lots of different answers. I posed this very question to my girlfriend.
“Yes, I thought my mom was very mean.” Gina, a mother of two, answered the question as she cut my hair. “She wouldn’t let me stay out late at night and needed to know my friends’ first and last names. But, to tell you the truth …” She stopped snipping and held her scissors midair. “I don’t think she was mean enough.” A tiny smile etched my face. “She was actually pretty naïve. She should’ve been meaner.”
Adapted from The Mean Mom’s Guide to Raising Great Kids by Joanne Kraft. Published by Leafwood Publishers, copyright ©2015. Used with permission.
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For years my children’s bedtime routine started early—ridiculously early, like 4:30 p.m. I’d dim all the lights and close every curtain so it looked like the middle of the night. After a warm bath and dinner, all three would be tucked into bed by 6:30.
That bedtime routine was for me. Sure, my children would get a good night’s sleep, but after a long day with three small children, I’d relish those long nights to myself. Word got out that I had found the holy-grail of parenting—sleep before 7 p.m.—and friends would call and e-mail me asking for advice.
I thought I’d mastered the bedtime routine until my oldest, William, learned to tell time and started staging noisy night-time revolts. Even after we moved his bedtime later, 8-year-old William would fight going to bed for an hour or two, even more. Those nights would deteriorate into yelling and inevitably would end with me sending a bottle of wine and a funny note of apology to my neighbors downstairs.
Then a study came out suggesting, in some cases, yelling could be just as damaging to children as corporal punishment. Yelling, as bad as hitting? It became the hot topic of
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