Mean Mom

Well, my parenthood level reached a new status yesterday, when Noel declared that I was mean.

Why?

Because after he tried to eat a candy cane, he was covered in stickiness and goo, and I (gasp) made him wash his face and hands with soap and water.

I know, I know, call social services.

I always thought I would be able to laugh it off when my children called me mean, but to be honest it really stung.  It hurts that sometimes my children look at me and think that I'm "the mean one".  I know it's not true, but sometimes I feel like my husband gets to be the fun dad who shows up at the end of the day and gets to play with them while I've spent the whole day getting on them about what they can't do.  What they shouldn't do.  What they are doing wrong.

And I know that a 5 year-old's perspective isn't always the best one to listen to.

But I also am reminded of what my attitude is with my children.  Do I need to correct them and guide them to become responsible, respectful adults?  Absolutely.  Do I need to be grumpy about it.  Absolutely not.

And so I walk the tightrope today, trying to balance being a good mother, but also one who can laugh at herself and be joyful in the midst of chaos.