The Meanest Mom in History

"I hope you know that you're the meanest mom in history" were Tanner's parting words to me this morning.

I do know. And I'm okay with that.

Here's where the kid messed up: last week, he was perfect in the mornings. Every single morning of the week went great, and you know what that tells me? He can do it.

So when every morning this week went the completely opposite direction, I was frustrated. This morning, the worst one all week, he unleashed the dragon. And the dragon began to hand out punishments.

For not getting up when he was supposed to: he does not get to stay up late tonight, like he usually does on Fridays.

For taking 30 minutes to get his clothes on and not brushing his teeth, he's grounded from video games.

For saying that he didn't care what I said, he would do whatever he wanted: a Friday evening of solitary confinement in his room, which means missing out on a skating party.

He narrowly escaped going to school barefooted (it's 34 degrees out) because his shoes and socks were not on when it was time to go, and buying the next box of cereal with his own money for wasting food because he chose to sit at the counter and sulk, rather than eat. At the last second, he scarfed down the food, and got his shoes and socks on.

So am I the Meanest Mom in History? Perhaps, but that lil' booger earned every little bit of what he got. He told me that he's not going to Y-Care after school. He's going to sneak out the back door and run away. Stay tuned to see if I still have a son at the end of the day.