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
“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?
From 1995-1999 the girls thought there was a really sweet and generous gal who drove throo the neighborhood randomly playing music for kiddos. In late 1999 when my oldest was taught to read in kindergarten my a heartless wench of a teacher, she soon realized the true nature of my deception. She shared her horror with her sister and summers were never the same. The “Music Van” suddenly morphed into the “Ice Cream Truck” with enough guilt and shaming on the kiddo end to get Ice Creams for several summers. When I tried to tell my much younger son it was a “Music Truck” my oldest daughter promptly took out her allowance and her bro out to the curb and bought him an Ice Cream. She also told him “you can’t believe everything Mom says, buddy….”
I was soooo busted.
Heh. I was five years old when I figured out how to spell “hate.” So what do you think was the first sentence I wrote on my toy chalkboard with my new word? I paid the price for the next dozen years or so.
I read The Godfather when I was eleven. So maybe something to look forward to.
So, if I click on your Amazon link and buy stuff, do you get money?
T-That story just makes me admire you (and your eldest) all the more.
M-“I hate injustice!”? Just a guess based on what I know about you and the fact that you would still be paying for that stance.
And yes, one day, if enough people used my website to link to Amazon to buy stuff, then I could get between 4-8% depending. I joined Amazon Associates to 1) figure out if it would be lucrative to do it with my for pay gig and 2) possibly justify my time wasted here. To date, I’ve earned a buck or so with Google AdSense and not a dime with Amazon, so, you know, the sell out was totally worth it.
This poster is VERY nice for you! Bring your bottle of wine over to my house and admire my new windows. You can be in the banned mother club with me.
Lori
I was the one who “helped” with the reading and writing. BUT!!!! I will always be a member of the “Rebecca Fan Club”. I even have a “Rebecca Fan Club” card in my wallet.
I too read The Godfather when I was in fifth grade. Can’t remember the page number in the book, but picture the movie with James Caan and one of the bridesmaids at his sister’s wedding. I read the scene aloud at the bus stop. I got in LOTS of trouble with the moms in my neighborhood. Hence the lesson my dear Rebecca
Kathy AKA The Teacher
Do you now understand why I kept you in a closet until you were 30?
Dad
Stay tuned… there’s loads of animosity to come.
Molly