mean mom

Picture me:  feet up, toe nails painted, sitting in one of those folding, web, woven, lawn chairs.  I have an iced beverage with lots of ice and it is sitting on the ground beside me.   I am working on a stitchery project.  The sun is shining.  Oh, and I am supervising a four-year old.

This scene was close to 30 years ago.

All of a sudden an official looking car drove up and parked in our driveway.  A man got out.  He introduced himself.  He said he was from CPS.  He showed me some sort of fancy badge.  That means Child Protective Services.  Apparently, a neighbor had called and “reported” me being an abusive mother.

He asked me what I was doing.

I said I am stitching and having an iced beverage.

He said is that your son?  I said, “yes”.

He asked,  “what is he doing”?

bucketHe had a bucket of water and a sponge and clearly he was scrubbing the sidewalk.   I explained what he was doing.

The “official” said, “why”?

I said because he spit on the side-walk.

He chose to clean the sidewalk for 15 minutes.  I am supervising and keeping time (while pretending to relax).

Then I got sassy and said, “If you choose to spit on my sidewalk, which I take care of, I would politely, yet sternly ask you to clean up after yourself as well.”

He said, “no ma’am, Have a nice afternoon.” He drove away, smiling.

You see, folks it is called PARENTING.

Okay, okay, the neighbor thought I was the meanest mom in the land.

If that neighbor is interested today; we raised two very respectful, polite, well-educated, interesting, funny, upstanding citizens.

If my religious beliefs allowed me to place a bet, I would gladly bet a huge bag of money (with a great big dollar sign printed on it, tied up with rope) that never again has that son of ours ever, ever spit on a sidewalk.

Baltimore, I am praying for the children and parents of your city.

Being a parent is TOUGH work.  It is work.  It does take time and effort.  It is NOT fun to set up a scene to pretend you are relaxing while your son is on his hands and knees scrubbing.  It breaks your heart.  However, I love my sons more than I cared about my achy breaky heart.

We all deserve citizens that were raised with parents who actually parented.