Mean Girls

Well, apparently, I'm one of them. I'm a mean girl. At least that's what my four-year-old son tells me. If you have children, I'm sure you've dealt with something similar happening. At least I hope I'm not alone here. He was boundary-pushing, really testing the limits. Therefore, as a responsible parent, I put my foot down. Got stern with him. Shut-him-down. And he didn't like it. He crossed his arms, poked out his lips, tucked his chin and said, "Mommy, you're being mean! Hmph." He may have alluded to it before, but he had never out-right called me mean! Blessedly, my self-worth is not dependent upon the opinion of a four-year-old boy. I just laughed (quietly to myself, of course) and continued what we were doing. 

Then it made me think: I bet that was the toddler version of the teenage "I hate you!" Our children don't really, truly mean it, right? They are, after all, terrible communicators, and they don't exactly enjoy taking responsibility for their actions. In turn, they blame us (their loving parents) for being mean to them. Instead of simply saying, "Mother dear, you are unequivocally spot-on. I was being defiant and testing you. That was rude and irresponsible, and I'm deeply sorry for disobeying you 47 times in a row. I will shamefacedly take myself to my room now," they decide to tell us we're mean or they hate us. As though we didn't say it nicely 47 times before we were cross. 

So, fellow mean parents, let us unite. Let us stand together, sigh loudly and long and look ahead to the days when we can smilingly watch our precious grandchildren return the favor.