(A reasonable facsimile of what I look like — minus the resting bitch face.)
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Dear Sir or Madam:
Thank you for this opportunity to apply for your 2016 Mother of the Year award. I believe that after reviewing my credentials, not only will you decide that I am, indeed, the Mother of the Year, you will decide to retire the award — as there certainly will never again be a candidate as worthy as I. Per your instructions, I address each of the selection factors below.
My Parenting Philosophy — I believe in surrounding my child with sweetness and light at all times. Yep, that’s what I believe. Of course, my beliefs and my reality have absolutely no relationship to each other. Whatsoever. It turns out that I can be a little dark and irritable at times. Also, annoying pretty much all the time. Just ask the people at College Confidential. So my parenting philosophy is pretty much bulls**t. Much like my belief that one should never, ever use swear words.
Methods of Discipline — My methods of discipline have evolved over time. When she was small, I effectively ceded control to Boo. Because let’s face it, sometimes it’s easier just to give in to the terrorists. When she was a little older, I used strategic annoyance and embarrassment methods. For example, I used to talk all the time about the Hunchback of Notre Dame and pronounce “Notre Dame” like the name of the football team that has a university attached to it. That drove Boo up the f**king wall. She would correct me with the French pronunciation over and over, and she was completely mortified that her mother was an absolute moron. Generally, that would cause her to retreat to her room in frustration and humiliation. Now that she’s an “adult,” I need only remind her that I have a blog, and I’m not afraid to use it.
Family Involvement — Because I’m a single parent, I’ve always made an effort to include extended family in Boo’s life. My family has played an important role in Boo’s development and education. For example, one of my cousins taught Boo how to say “motherf**ker” when she was 15 months old. Because that’s what family does. You just don’t get that sort of caring and useful involvement in your child’s life from strangers. BTW: this cousin is now the father of four kids under age 6. I can’t wait until the next time I see his family; I have a few things to teach his kids.
Home — Our home is a place of serenity. And squalor. Only without the serenity. And with a little extra squalor.
Health and Nutrition — Well . . . for approximately two years, Boo ate nothing but chicken nuggets and apples (without the peels dammit!). She survived to adulthood. Mission accomplished.
Recreation — Boo is a musical theater geek — which means that through the course of her childhood, I sat through approximately 600 amateur performances of “Annie.” And Boo was not in a single one of those performances. I think I deserve a medal just for that. (On Sunday, we’re going to see “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” — which is definitely not about a spunky orphan. Yay!)
Service to the Community — I baked. I drove. I sold. I canvassed. I brought treats (mostly chicken nuggets). I delivered Girl Scout cookies. I ate Girl Scout cookies. I served on boards. I went to PTA meetings. I plotted. I schemed. I kvetched. And most importantly, I wrote the definitive Guide to the Hippie Colleges of America. You’re f**king welcome.
Regards,
Your Mom
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Over on my Facebook page, I recommended a three part podcast series by Malcolm Gladwell about access to high quality education for low income kids. As a friend points out in the comments, one episode is grossly unfair to Bowdoin (making Gladwell an asshole), but his larger points are well worth consideration. Join in the conversation here.
Last night, I watched the first episode of HBO’s new series “Westworld.” Evan Rachel Wood is totally gorgeous and very good in the show, but I’m so glad I’m not her mom. She has broken two of my nonnegotiable rules: 1) she got a tattoo of a boyfriend’s initials (Thy Mom’s First Commandment); and 2) she was engaged to Marilyn Manson. (No, they are not his initials.)
Thy Mom forgot Thy Mom’s Eleventh Commandment — Thou shalt not enter into a romantic relationship with Marilyn Manson. And if thou does, Thy Mom better not find out about it.
As most of my regular readers know, College Confidential and I have been engaged in the World’s Dumbest Feud (©2016 Your Mom) for some time now. If you need the background you can find it here with an update here.
In a nutshell, the World’s Dumbest Feud (©2016 Your Mom) is a really stupid feud between me and the website College Confidential which led to me being banned from posting the continuation of my popular Hippie College Guide on CC. I still have absolutely no idea why I was banned. After I was banned, they left the content up, but cut off my access so that I could no longer post on the site.
Even in my absence, the thread continued and would sporadically come back to life. Today, the poster who had previously called me “annoying” after I was first banned decided to question my judgment with respect to my decision to write about Boo’s college search. S/he thought it was a bad idea.
In response, I created a “How Bad a Parent Is Your Mom?” poll on my Facebook page and linked to the poll on my blog.
Even though I am no longer on CC, the CC moderators still apparently feel compelled to monitor my Facebook page and/or blog. (It’s like being monitored by the KGB.)
Anyway, it appears that my “Bad Mom” poll below made the College Confidential moderators mad enough to employ the nuclear option. They deleted the recent posts by other users, closed the Hippie Colleges thread, and removed it from the search results. I guess they don’t like me. They really, really don’t like me.
Or maybe they’ll drunk text me later and ask if they can come over. Because they’re obviously obsessed with me. 😉 Continue reading The World’s Dumbest Feud Goes Nuclear
Back on College Confidential, the Hyppymom thread is hopping again. The poster who had earlier called me “annoying” is now questioning my judgment as a parent for writing about Boo’s college search. So I’ve decided to ask my readers to grade the level of “bad” of my parenting skills. 😉
Please visit my Facebook page to participate in the poll.
Now you can automatically receive an email any time Your Mom posts new material. Look for the “Subscribe” option in the menu. You’ll never miss a message from Your Mom again.
Now I just have to figure out how to make sure Boo never misses a message from me.
For Harvard and its lost billions. I’ll be taking up a collection.
[A note from Your Mom — If you enjoy this article, please stick around and explore the rest of this website. My series “Your Mom’s Guide to College” is a great place to start. And visit me on Facebook for extra content!]
In the last few days, an article about the benefits of “nagging” your daughter has come across my Facebook feed a couple of times. The premise of the article is that the daughters of “nagging” moms are more likely to succeed later in life.
I hate this article. When you look at the details, what it really says is that if you encourage your daughter to make smart decisions, she will listen. The examples they give? Tell your daughter to go to college and not to become a teen mom. Duh! That’s not nagging. That’s doing the minimum required to be a mediocre parent. In contrast, nagging is getting in your kid’s face all the time — often over little things that don’t matter. That’s not a good thing. I’m not sure when encouraging reasonable expectations for your kid became nagging. Because it’s not. And why is it that it’s always the moms who “nag” and the dads who “encourage”? Because that’s sexist. It just plain is.
Stepping off my soapbox now.
And a cleansing breath . . . .
Even though I found the article extremely irritating, it did get me thinking about some of the expectations and requirements I have for Boo. First, I need to clarify that Boo is either a really good kid or the greatest con artist in the history of humankind. I don’t spend much time worrying about her becoming a teen mom or driving drunk or taking drugs or becoming romantically involved with someone on death row. Of course, it’s possible that she has me completely fooled, and that she’s out robbing banks and driving around town, pregnant and on meth, while I’m at home writing stupid blog posts. But I don’t think so.
Anyway, the result of my thinking is the following list of Thy Mom’s Ten Commandments. Feel free to copy, revise as necessary, post on your refrigerator, and/or carve into stone tablets. Which really seems like the least you can do given that I’m not charging you for my words of wisdom.
Thy Mom’s Ten Commandments.