I've been called a mean mom more than once in my life. Doesn't phase me a bit. As a matter of fact I sort of take pride in it because usually when I'm hearing it mumbled under breath, I'm making my kids mind and that's my job! Of course, proud of the title or not, I always give a quick turn, narrow my eyes and look deep into my child's soul and say "What was that?" to which they deny saying anything and quickly do as they are told, only thinking about how evil I am, like good little children should.
It's 2:30 and I'm already drooling over dinner plans. Spaghetti (actually rotini because I have issues with noodles that are not spiraled. I even have to buy the spiraled mac and cheese which is getting hard to find. What's up with that?) Anyway, meat balls, salad, and giant slabs of garlic bread. YUMMY! How does this tie into me being a mean mom? Because no one in this house likes pasta, some actually HATE this meal, (Ms. Thang once got sick after eating spaghetti, and now, almost 2yrs later, she still refuses to eat it) but I'm making it anyway!
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