In spite of what my children might like to tell you, I am a really good mom. I’m a really, really good mom. No. Really. My pal Martha sent me this link as evidence. Here’s additional goods to prove it.
My 6 YO (soon to be 7) girl left this on her doorstep. Let me walk you through it. At first, she simply refuses my access. Note that she can’t bring herself to call me “Mom” and uses my name instead. She then progresses to actively protest my existence. Finally, she recruits family members to “Join the anti-Rebecca club (unless you are Rebecca).” My kids had an awesome K-1 teacher, or so I thought until I realized she taught them to write. I would be remiss if I didn’t point out the Hello Kitty stationery labels this series, “Moments to remember.”
Just because I’m actively inspiring admiration in the girl, doesn’t mean I’m slacking off on my obligation to scar the 9 YO boy. Not long ago I bought him a book in the kids’ section of CostCo. The book, Indiana Jones and the Peril at Delphi*, was handed to me by the 9 YO with the direction to read the following excerpts:
“First, I should tell you a bit about my family,” she said, arching her back as she washed the base of her neck, and the rosy tips of her breasts pushed through the bubbles. – p. 81.
“Put the glasses down,” she said, and slipped her hand around his neck.
“What are you doing?”
She pulled him to her, and retsina spilled on the floor and in the tub. “I think you need a bath.” Her voice was husky, soft, laced with laughter. She wound her wet arms around his back and he toppled over the side, splashing into the warm bath as Dorian’s soft limbs wrapped around him. – pp. 83-84.
That same K-1 teacher who taught them to write taught them to read. It’s really all too bad because I was a much better mom before they learned stuff. Just to add insult to injury, Mz. K-1 had just warned me that kids with mad reading skillz, yo often run into inappropriate content. Just because they can read something doesn’t mean they should. Oopsalay.
The takeaway from these two instances of my children begging me to be a better mother is that I’m a really, really good mom. No. Really. Somebody alert The Mix.
* Did I mention I am a sell-out, er, Amazon Associate?