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Fear Me, Dammit.
I want my children to grow up to be happy, healthy, productive members of society who never have to see the inside of a shrink’s office or a prison cell.
I also want my kids to like me and think I’m the coolest mom on Earth, worshipping my every move while putting me first at all costs and maybe at the expense of future in-laws who will hate me and stick pins in a voodoo doll made in my likeness.
Ya. So therapy may be in their futures after all. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree and all that…
In the meantime, when I’m not brainwashing them into idolizing me and overlooking my vast array of parental flaws, I want them to hold a healthy dose of fear in their teeny tiny little hearts. Fear of pissing off their lovely and awe-inspiring mother and having to face the hidden monster of wrath that lay beneath my skin.
Call me old fashioned but there is something to be said for having a little fear for one’s parents. I know I used to fear having to face my angry and disappointed father after I snuck out of the house with my girl friend, got drunk with her on vodka shooters and then found our sorry asses abandoned in the middle of nowhere. I had to call my dad to pick us up in the dead of the night after our buddies forgot about us and took off.
I still remember swallowing my fear and making that phone call. I also remember leaning over and puking up my innards all over the interior of his brand new truck on the way home.
I would have feared the repercussions of tossing my cookies but luckily for me I was drunk and I passed out before we got home.
If I had any sense of fear in my head I would have stayed awake all night and prayed for forgiveness instead of sawing logs only to be woken up four hours later at the crack of dawn by a deceptively happy father.
Not only did he make me scrub out hours old vomit from the inside of his truck with a toothbrush but when I finished that grim task while still slightly drunk he made me and my girlfriend strip the varnish off our fence and then restain the entire thing during the heat of the day.
I’ve never been so hung over in my life. The fumes and my killer hangover just about killed me.
If I had any sense at all, I would have lived in fear of my father’s revenge before ever downing that first vodka shooter.
So ya, I want my kids to have a healthy dose of fear of me in the back of their heads as they go about their daily business of treating me like the wanna-be rockstar I am and maternal queen I demand to be.
Lately, with their father gone so often and for such long stretches, a little fear would serve all of us well. It would save my children from having to watch me rip out my hair as I try to get them to do something and it would certainly save my vocal cords as I seem to spend most of my time repeating nurturing commands at a high noise decibel which seem to go unnoticed by everyone except for my dog.
How I love thee, Nixon. Thank God you listen to me. And love me. Even if you do lick your own arse before bestowing a kiss on me.
In other words, my kids don’t listen to me. Unless I’m dangling icecream in front of their noses or wielding a large roll of duct tape and sporting an evil glint in my eye.
For the past week, I have been trying to get my kids to clean up their rooms. As children, they don’t understand why they shouldn’t be allowed to live like pigs wallowing in their own filth.
Call me crazy, but I would really rather not have my home overrun with ants or mice.
It has been a vicious circle of me asking politely; repeating said request a little louder yet no less polite; ditching the politeness while starting to yell; yelling at them as steam comes out of my ears until finally my head pops off and rolls under one of their filthy beds and my eyes start to get nibbled on by what ever hairy thing lives under the bed.
Good times.
Yesterday, my darling children decided to amp it up a notch, in a game of ‘let’s see how far we can push mom before she reaches for her wine glass.’ Made even more fun by the fact my sister was over to witness the fun.
Frac was in fine form. He took great pleasure in rolling his beady little eyes at me parroting back my every word in a ballsy, completely disrespectful manner.
When I threatened to take the door off his room so he couldn’t hide his dirty ways behind it, he huffed indignantly at me that I had “no business even going into his room” (I was looking for dirty laundry) as it was “his personal space.”
And then he informed me that even if I managed to take off his door he would just put it back on because “he knows more about power tools and fixing things as a ten year old boy then I will ever know in my entire life time as a female.”
It was right about then my sister’s eyes popped out of her head and rolled down my driveway.
As Frac ran outside to enjoy the victory of telling his mother off and living to brag about it, my sister hastily scooped up her eyeballs, dusted them off, pushed them back in and then looked at me and said rather incredulously, “I can’t believe you let him talk to you like that and get away with it!!”
She then reached over to feel my forehead to see if I was suffering from a mysterious fever because normally I would have made him eat his disrespectful words while licking my feet clean with his tongue.
“You know Sis, Boo has been gone for three weeks now. Three long weeks of me parenting two preteens by myself and trying to get them to listen to me. I’ve hit a wall. I just don’t care tonight. I need a mommy break.”
“Still Tanis, you shouldn’t let him get away with behaviour like that. You have to let them know who’s boss so they don’t morph into neighbourhood drug dealers who end up pimping you out at the highest bidder to some skeevy john,” my sister worried.
Just then my lovely children, who were really on a roll, opened up the front door, stuck out their tongues at me and wiggled their little asses in our direction as if to say “Who’s your momma now beyotch?” and then ran away giggling like loons.
My sister raised her eyeballs and looked at me with disbelief. Any respect she had for me as a parent was quickly slipping away.
I watched my children play and I turned to my sister and shook my head.
“I know, but I’m so tired. Besides, I know something they don’t know.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“Their father should be rolling up the driveway in about five minutes. They’re dead kids walking. They just don’t know it yet.” Heh.
Just then, Boo’s car pulled to turn into our driveway. I heard the familiar rumble of his car’s engine so my sister and I stood up to go outside.
Fric and Frac stood there with their mouths hanging open. “You tricked me!” Frac cried. “You called DAD!”
Fric quickly made a beeline to her bedroom to start shoving things under her bed to make her room seem clean (smart kid) while Frac stood there with his bottom lip quivering.
His aunt looked at him and grinned and then tousled his hair as she told him she was leaving because she didn’t want to stick around to watch his father rip off his arms and beat him with them. She had a weak stomach she said as she beat a hasty retreat to her car while nodding hello to Boo.
Frac burst into full fledged tears and then ran to hide in the washroom to pray for mercy like the scared little schoolboy he is.
While I am thankful for Boo’s safe arrival home and to have some much needed parental relief, I can’t help be but a smidge annoyed.
I want my children to tremble with fear when I pull into the driveway.
I want my children to run and hide in the bathroom rather than face a look of disappointment in my eyes.
I want my presence to be enough to snap my children into model behaviour; inspire them to be good as gold.
I want to be able to discipline my children with just a look.
Like Boo.
Instead, I get my kids mooning their cute little asses in my face as they laugh like hyenas.
I’m sure my mother would say something about karma and what goes around, comes around, but I can’t hear it.
I’m too busy hiding in the pantry with a bottle of red with my fingers in my ears, chanting “lalalalaala” while my husband gets all draconian on my children’s arses.
Harumph.
May 14th, 2008 at 9:12 am
I hear you sister. My hubs travels a lot, and the boy ignores the crap out of me yet trembles with fear if daddy raises his voice 1/2 an octave.
May 14th, 2008 at 9:26 am
I hope you enjoy your mommy break. Three weeks alone with them, you deserve it.
May 14th, 2008 at 9:31 am
ME TOO!! My kids aren’t afraid of me at all and it’s AWFUL. Of course the boy is 6′3″ and 200 pounds - and the girl is 5′8″. I’m 5 foot tall if I stand up REAL tall. Still! My position of authority should be able to make them quake - right? It’s frustrating!
May 14th, 2008 at 9:54 am
At least their rooms got sort of close to clean? Tidy?
There’s always one good cop and one bad cop, the way I understand it!
May 14th, 2008 at 10:17 am
hmmm. funny thing, my daughter tells me that i’m the one she love the most in the world — and is most afraid of.
of course you can’t tell that when she is rolling her eyes and sassing me, but oh well.
May 14th, 2008 at 10:18 am
oh. she’s 13.
May 14th, 2008 at 10:27 am
If you figure out how to do this, let me know, wouldja?
May 14th, 2008 at 10:28 am
Vomit/toothbrush/hangover your Dad was one smart Dude!
My almost 14 year old loves to push buttons! Big time! The eye rolling and whatever, are a daily event. Then there is the 7 year old who sits there and soaks up the “hey my big sis is getting in trouble” and tops it off with the I love you Daddy/Mommy. Yep she’s a kiss ass! Well for the moment anyways.
May 14th, 2008 at 10:40 am
Man, I wish I could do that. Right now the only way I can get them to quake is if I go up in frequency so high the dog starts whining - and then they’re all afraid. ‘You hurt Jasper! From over there! WHY?’
and I blink at them, realizing that the minor earthquake I just caused by YELLING SO LOUD didn’t faze them. A BIT.
May 14th, 2008 at 10:52 am
Thank GOD…it’s not just me. I would pay good money to instill the kind of fear my husband has just by pulling into the driveway. And it’s hard not to use that “Your father is going ot hear about this” crap.
May 14th, 2008 at 11:25 am
Same thing w/ me and my husband. It is truly enough to make me never ever divorce him no matter how many times he leaves his clothes on the floor.
May 14th, 2008 at 11:31 am
My kids have a healthy fear of me, sometimes. They know just how far to push mom before she comes out swinging. When the boys were small, and they had pushed just the right button, they begged me to call dad. Little Miss always begs me to call dad, he is a weenie when it comes to her. Yea, I get to be the mean one.
May 14th, 2008 at 11:32 am
Oh dude. “Deceptively happy father” had me hiding under the desk trembling screaming “I’m NOT MOWING THE LAWN EVER AGAIN!!”
I’m in total bloggy love.
May 14th, 2008 at 11:39 am
I like that your dad was creative. will have to bank that one, seeing as my kids don’t fear me OR chris.
May 14th, 2008 at 11:43 am
You keep showing me my future, and it ain’t pretty. It makes me absolutely insane how my 3 year old doesn’t pay a lick of attention to me (unless I’m shrieking like a crazy lady with my eyes bugging out and waving my arms wildly). I keep thinking it’ll change (magically on her 4th birthday) and she’ll become a rational, obedient human. I guess not, eh?
May 14th, 2008 at 12:01 pm
I had a conversation along these lines with my parents this weekend. Growing I feared the Wrath of Dad; my mom, not so much. If it’s any consolation, I respect my mom immensely now that I’m an adult. As for getting through the teenage years: I’ll send more wine.
May 14th, 2008 at 12:39 pm
I would have taken the door off just to piss the lad off. But that’s just me. My 14 yo daughter is at that age where some times I’d like to sell her to the first carnival of passing well, carnies - and others I’d like to just hug her to pieces. Go figure. I’ll let you know which one wins!
May 14th, 2008 at 2:18 pm
I hear ya! Mine are all “Yes Ma’am, Yes Sir” when the husband is around, but let him leave the house for a few hours, and I’m screaming and yelling and popping eyeballs… Grrr…
I wanna be the mean, scary one.
May 14th, 2008 at 2:43 pm
oooooooooooooooh my kids are skeered of me a lot lately. It’s me, hand raised: the scary one.
May 14th, 2008 at 3:12 pm
My husband doesn’t travel much, but boy do my boys act so different around me than they do when their dad is home! They snap into shape when he walks in here too…or start bawling when I pick the phone up to call dad!
May 14th, 2008 at 3:27 pm
oh my god. Is it too late to change your mind about kids when one is six months old?
May 14th, 2008 at 6:01 pm
My kids are TERRIFIED of my husband, the MOST GENTLE HUMAN BEING IN THE WORLD, while I, their shrieking mother, is merely a soothing background noise as they trash the house. !!!
May 14th, 2008 at 6:28 pm
Your dad is awesome. I am totally doing that to Moo next time she has a little drinky at a party. Even if she doesn’t vomit in the car, she is still gunna clean it. Going out to stock up on teeny tiny baby toothbrushes.
May 14th, 2008 at 6:32 pm
You’re right about a little fear being a good thing. I must be doing something right–the look still works and the youngest is 13. It is exhausting though, and I don’t do it by myself for weeks at a time.
May 14th, 2008 at 7:54 pm
Damn! I’m so glad that I’m not the only one who doesn’t scare their kids! I wanna be the scary one, at least every once in a while!! (But sometimes, it is WAY more fun to be the one they get to laugh and be completely goofy with)
May 14th, 2008 at 10:13 pm
I too was totally scared of my dad.
May 14th, 2008 at 10:32 pm
My kids fear me a little.
They fear their dad a whole lot more, dammit.
Maybe if I grew 6 inches and grew a beard and a Bass voice they would fear me more.
Sigh.
May 15th, 2008 at 2:42 am
hehe poor my mom!! dis scene has been repeating in my house over decades.. still me an my bro stink like pigs while dad is a clean freak
May 15th, 2008 at 7:43 am
When I yell at my son, he laughs. He is two years old and he actually laughs at me. Sigh.
May 15th, 2008 at 8:07 am
DEAD KIDS WALKING…GETS ALL DRACONIAN ON THEIR ARSES…BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! I am the one who is feared in this house. I hate it, but my husband just doesn’t have the balls to go draconian on a fly, so I am the one going “well if you CHOOSE to hit your sibling with that toy rather than use it as intended then maybe I should take the Wii out in the front yard and call Santa to come and RUN OVER IT WITH HIS REINDEER, you know I have him on speed-dial, right? HMMM???”
May 15th, 2008 at 8:10 am
Growing up, we were way more scared of my mom than my dad. Of course, that’s because mom did most of the parenting since dad was a British, absent minded prof with little idea of how to effectively parent. (We loved him, but mom was the one you had to watch out for.)
With my kids, even though the oldest is only 3, it is very obviously dad who commands the respect re discipline. Sigh. So move over, I think I’ll split that bottle of red with you. Or bring my own.
May 15th, 2008 at 8:50 am
Can I borrow Boo? I really want at least my oldest to quake in fear of someone…
May 15th, 2008 at 10:56 am
enjoy the break hon.
drinking right along with you.
May 15th, 2008 at 11:21 am
I’m told the good parent/bad parent system is always the most effective. Clear proof here I guess!
Cheers
BC
May 15th, 2008 at 12:52 pm
Ah, yes, Mutt and Jeff. So annoying.
I’m the nag, yet also the one who fails to elicit a single bit of fear.
May 15th, 2008 at 12:52 pm
And that makes me merely annoying, rather than intimidating.
May 15th, 2008 at 2:31 pm
I’m seconding your emotion RIGHT NOW.
May 15th, 2008 at 7:27 pm
Oh I hear you and if you figure out how to do it, drop me a line. Husband has been in Iraq for over a year now and the 16 year old is being a bitch that she has to help so much and the 7 year old boy is about to be tossed out on his ear (as I type) I have spent the last two hours trying to get him to do his homework, I have yelled, I have screamed I have grounded him and all I get is “mommy is a poopy head”. I want a bottle of wine and a massage!
Yes hubby has been home for a few visits and it is amazing how they both behave better and listen to him, but me, I am just the crazy lady pulling her hair out screaming.
May 15th, 2008 at 8:04 pm
I had the fear of God from my mother. Holy crap did she scare me when she was pissed.
This women was also an RN, used to shoving around patients twice her size and had no problem cleaning up bodily fluids of any kind.
She also knew who to embarrass the hell out of us.
If my and my sister’s rooms where horribly messy, she’d tell us we’d have “15 minutes to clean it and that isn’t very long” when we were little. When we were older (tween range) and really wanted mom out of our rooms, she tell us to clean our rooms that weekend or she’d do it for us (”and you won’t like it either”).
She kept her word. It took me at least two weeks to find where the hell she put everything (I’d ask, but she’d just tell me it’s my room, I should know). When she said “clean your room” I (eventually) did it to keep her out. And also so I could find my freaking hair ties. Her way of saying “don’t want me in your room then don’t give me a reason to go in/you want privacy, you got to earn privacy” I think I even shot back something like what Frac said once, mom glared and in calm scary voice, said “try it.”
I slipped up really bad once (Easter basket left on the floor) and got ants. Nothing like lifting your shoes and seeing 50 of the buggers running around to make you suddenly careful with food.
Keep strong Redneck! The kids just caught you off gaurd, that ‘just a female’ card would have had me on my ass.
May 16th, 2008 at 4:11 am
I think we grew up in the same house, or had the same father, or something. And now…well, my husband says our child and our dogs only misbehave when I’m around. Can I join you in the closet?
May 16th, 2008 at 7:06 am
Little shits, the lot of them. I often do play the role of “bad cop”, but my kids still aren’t scared of me. I really think that you and I both simply need to physically beat them more. As a kid, it only took a couple of times with the wooden spoon for my mom to earn THE FEAR. My kids are soft. And naughty. Oh, they’re naughty!
May 16th, 2008 at 2:17 pm
[…] I actually noticed two additional laugh lines in the mirror after making my way through The Redneck Mommy’saccount of pre-teen angst while solo parenting in her post, “Fear Me, Damn It“. […]
May 17th, 2008 at 10:33 am
My kids fear me. The ONLY reason they fear me is because I am both mom and dad. I have to be able to strike fear in their hearts with a simple glance. My 16 year old told me “that look scares me”. As well it should. What she doesn’t know that I know is that if it came down to it, she could take me. I know she could. Now, if it ever came down to a scuffle, I have three sisters who would gladly hold her down while I beat her.
May 18th, 2008 at 12:28 pm
The part about taking the door off its hinges? When I was about 14, I got in an argument with my dad and huffed off to my room and slammed the door as hard as I could. As I sat in my room pouting, I heard a noise…….soon my door was lifted off the hinges and proceeded to disappear down the hall. I was horrified - I told my dad, “you can’t do that that - this is MY room!” My father laughed and said, “Oh honey, it is NOT your room - it’s my house, my room, and I let you live in it due to the goodness in my heart……….when you learn not to slam the door, you can have your door back.” It took about 2 months to get that door back. And I never slammed another door, at least not in THAT house……………
May 19th, 2008 at 9:40 pm
First time here - I love it!
Oh. www.HouseFairy.org Pure, unadulterated bribery works every time
This is what I plan to use with my young ‘un, and what I already use on my husband. Yes, it still works at 30. It’s my secret weapon!
~Connie