Mean Mom

Most of my adult life, I have the icky task of being mean mom.  I am the rule setter and enforcer.  I don’t like it.  Why can’t the others set their own rules?  I first discovered this was my task when I had my first two year old.  The terrible two really start about 18 months when kids find that they want to wander but need boundaries.  If you don’t set some - they act out - a lot.  That’s the whole premise of that TV show about the nanny who fixes families.  Kids want rules.  Adults want rules.  AND they want someone to rail and rant against for making those rules.

I was reading a blog about saints - Ask Sister Mary Martha.  She was talking about mean saints - and she wrote the following:

St. Benedict was so strict with his rules that the other monks tried to kill him. A couple of times.  Ironic as his rules are based on balance, moderation and reasonableness. On top of that, the monks that tried to poison him (twice) had begged him to be their abbot and he had refused over and over again until he finally said yes.
Be careful what you wish for, monks, you might have a saint on your hands.
Perhaps you are confusing discipline with meanness, a common modern practice.

Maybe - just maybe - all Mean Moms are saints in disguise. . . .  just in case, I’m going to ask Santa for a little halo polish!