Monday, August 8, 2011

Tough Love

My beautiful, sweet mom asked me toward the end of a recent evening if I was in a bad mood.  I said no and asked why she would think such a thing.  Apparently I was short with the kids.


What some would consider short, I consider the thin line between the world's smallest semblance of order and utter hurricane-force chaos.  I think of myself as less the irate, harried, nearly-psychotic mother I seem on the outside and more as a cool capable drill sergeant toughening up these little pansies to become better, stronger versions of themselves. 

In fact, I've come to appreciate what I call the Captain Von Trapp style of parenting.  I think it's absolutely ridiculous to have let that hippie Maria woman come in and turn such a orderly household completely upside-down with her laughing and singing nonsense.

Obviously, I would never allow such a thing to happen with my charges.  No singing.  No laughing.  No playing of any kind.  ORDER!  I MUST HAVE ORDER AT ALL TIMES!

Now, where did I put that whistle?


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