I’m mean.

Word on the street is that I’m mean. Former employers, current clients, friends, and Spouse haven’t heard this rumor yet, but it’s burning like wildfire through the living room.

The constant accusations from my six-year-old are that I’m mean, not fair, and stupid.

The latte I won’t stand for. He hears, “We don’t say that word. It hurts. You may not call me names.”

The other two, though, get operatic replies.

“You’re being mean, Mom.”

Mom, you’re mean
Mom, you’re mean
Mom I can’t bear anymore of this scene.
Mom you’re a brute
Mom you’re so rude
Mom if I ask nicely will you get me some food!
But nay she won’t feed me
And nay she won’t need me
To clean up, for she gives me no toys!
My mom she deprives me
And yes, she derides me
Cuz my mom she is so mean.

The lyrics change each time, but the tune is always catchy with a bit of melancholy. In the song I note how I’m mean for giving him nothing, doing nothinbg, never listening, and making untenable rules.

It’s the rules, after all, that are rendering his life unlivable.

“Mommmmm. You’re not being fair.”

[singing softly] Mom is not fair
Mom doesn’t care
Mom drags me around
The house by my hair!
Mom is so cold
And yes, even bold
As to walk around making
The rules though she’s old!
Mom gives much more
To everyone at the store
Than even to her dear sweet son!
My mom is so bad
It makes me so sad
That I think I’ll get a new one.

The first-grader doesn’t like the fair songs either, though the two-year-old seems to.

I’m sick to death of the word mean. I’m tired of avoiding the “life’s not fair” lecture. I would much prefer a cogent list of grievances and demands so I can carefully consider them and reject them.

Because I’m mean. And not fair.

15 thoughts on “I’m mean.

  1. Let’s write an opera, Nap. I’ve composed some catchy tunes about Dinner Selections, Early Bed Time, and Whining from Behind Closed Doors. They’ve been universally panned, but pay no mind to the reviewers in my living room. I believe they’re about as reliable as the reviewers in yours. :)

  2. We haven’t reached the “you’re mean and not fair” stage. But, something tells me it’s just around the corner. Please send me sheet music and lyrics so that I too may dispel the madness with the magic of music.

  3. My oldest son is not yet old enough to make a specific accusation like, “You’re mean,” but I have no doubt he would if he thought of it. Things I have done to him lately that are mean: Stopped him from poking the cat with his umbrella; pulled him down from an extension ladder he was trying to climb; took away a leaky container of old oil and gasoline he found in the shed; prevented him from running shrieking into his father’s office while said father was on the phone.

    There are more, all of which were met by screaming and NONONONONO at my obvious meanness.

    Being the disciplinarian is a drag.

    • I’ve been calling you SO COOL MOM for years, so I guess I screwed that up, too.

      Have any good “Mom is Cruel” songs for when mine tires of the word “mean”?

  4. I think Peanut may be ready for the life’s not fair speech. I have to dish it out to the ladies every now and again, remind them how insanely lucky they are to have who and what they have, to know they are loved no matter what. Mean schmean!

    • I think so, too, j. That he’s ready. And that the ladies are insanely lucky.

      And I’ve already busted out the “you can not like something, but that doesn’t make it mean. You wake me up early every morning and I don’t like it, but I would never say you’re mean. It’s your job to be full of energy in the morning. It’s who you are and I would never call it mean.”

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