The Worst Mother In The World
Like the Stanley Cup, the Worst Mother In The World Award is a coveted and hard-to-earn trophy, gained under grueling conditions and passed from mother to mother and back again. Unlike the Stanley Cup, there are no photo-ops or throngs of adoring fans to see you hoist it. I was reminded of this when I got my turn at this double-edged award this evening. Because I made daughter turn off “Hunka-Do-Me-Burnin’-Love” [a slight edit of the actual show title...but not much of an edit], I got the Award…complete with the full nine-syllable “MOOOooOOOoooOOOOOooooOOOOoooOOOMMMM!!!!”, the eye roll, the exasperated sigh, the stomping stair ascent, the slammed door, and even the withheld-out-of-spite goodnight kiss. She’s watched it before. All the cool kids watch it. It’s not like she’s gonna DO any of that stuff, WEAR (or not-wear, in some cases) any of that stuff, SAY any of that stuff, BE like that. I’m so backwards! I’m so old-fashioned! I’m so totally ruining her life!
Alone downstairs with my award (and without my goodnight kiss), I remembered the times some 25-30 years ago when I was the one stomping upstairs, leaving my mother kissless and holding the Award. How DARE she not let me go over to my boyfriend’s house just because his parents weren’t home? How COULD she insist I wear more clothes and less makeup? What did SHE know about unchaperoned parties, reasonable bedtimes, or homework coming first?
My mother knew that there’s a time to be a child’s “BFF”, but there’s also a time to step up and be a child’s parent. What she knew then, is what I know now, partly because she knew it then and partly because I learned it the hard way. What daughter will know in two or three decades, when she’s left holding the Award by a child whose life she’s just ruined, she will know partly (no doubt) from learning it the hard way, but partly – I hope mostly – because I was willing to step up and occasionally be what every loving mother occasionally has to be: The Worst Mother In The World.
Mad God Woman
