I guess I’m a control freak. Well, I am a mother to three children, four if you count hubby, and I do think someone should be in control.
Also, the controlling has to come from me because if it was left to them, my children would decide that living under a tree in the forest in sub zero temperatures would be a good idea. So, I’m taking the reins and assuming control ’cause I ain’t moving out to live under no freaking tree.
Here’s the problem. I like the dirty laundry picked up off the floors. I like wet towels hung up after they’re used. I think candy for three meals a day is bad for you. I think homework should be done and (gasp!) handed in on time.
Heck, call me a freak but I’m trying to teach my kids about responsibility. I did say trying, nothing about actually succeeding. For this I was accused of being a control freak.
Today. Twice. By my children.
I can’t wait until I have grandchildren and hear them calling their parents/my children that. Until then I’m going to look at being called a ‘control freak’ as a good thing. After all it must mean I’m just being that strangest controlling freaky creature of all – a Mom.
Still, what ever happened to the days when I thought being called ‘sexy’ or ‘beautiful’ was good? Control freak? How
sad pathetic whipped beaten does that make me?