Dear Ass Clown

Let me start by saying that I have made a sincere effort to let this go. I wanted to chalk it up as one person's opinion, but I can't. Yesterday, I read a post that chapped my ass so badly that all the cocoa butter in the world won't help. The woman dedicated an entire blog post to a letter she wrote to "sorry ass mothers". In said letter, she unleashed a tsunami of scathing remarks toward mothers who: 1. don't strap their children in seat belts, 2. smoke inside the car with their children on board, and 3. scream at their children.

It's never okay to put the safety of children at risk, you may say. I agree. Secondhand smoke is very bad for a child's lungs, or anyone's lungs for that matter, you may respond. Again, I agree. Why would this upset you, Mrs. Hyde?

I'm so fucking glad you asked!

There are several reasons why that post bothered me. I'll give each its own bullet point and subsequent explanation.

*Don't presume to tell a mother how to be a mother.
I get that it pissed her off to see a small child not strapped in his/her car seat. And I understand her concern for the child inhaling the toxic fumes. But did anybody notice that this self-righteous woman didn't bother to voice her opinions to the mothers themselves? No? You know why? Because she would have gotten her ass handed to her in a used McDonald's bag. Everyday you see people doing stupid shit. There are dumbasses everywhere, but that doesn't give you the right to tell them that they are dumbasses, at least not without accepting the fallout that will surely come. That's why we don't do it. We might give them a dirty look, shake our heads in disgust, but if you're not going to call them on their bullshit, shut your fat ass pie hole. Maybe the child was strapped in, but as small children tend to be curious and mischievous, maybe the child unstrapped himself. With the cigarette-smoking mom, as far as I'm concerned if you've never had a nicotine addiction, you have no opinion. I'm going to let you in on a little secret: moms are human. Which brings me to my next point.

*Why in the name of sweet June Cleaver is the whole world so hard on mothers?
A mother can't step the tiniest bit outside the line without having the wrath of God brought down on her. It's like we're not human, and therefore not allowed to make mistakes. Don't yell at your kids, don't let them watch TV, don't feed them sugary cereals? WHAT? If you think I won't plop a bowl of cereal in front of a kid when I'm too tired to cook or tell them to go watch Spongebob so I can take a goddamn bath, you are sadly mistaken, asshole. While I do know that opinions are, in fact, like assholes, it leaves me wondering why all the bitter disdain for 'bad' mothers, but none for 'bad' fathers? Is it okay for deadbeats to abandon their children and not pay child support? Is it all honky fucking doory for a man to neglect his fatherly duties. If this woman had seen the child unstrapped in the car with his father, she would have shaken her head and said, "Hmmph, men!" and left it the hell alone. She wouldn't have thought twice about his smoking while driving his babies around because at least his ass is present, right? If a man screams at his kids, they call it tough love. And that shit brings me to my final point.

*Yelling at your kids is absolutely necessary.
Okay, not all the time, but sometimes, yes. It's very necessary. There are all different kinds of scenarios I could cite as excellent times for yelling, but I'd be here all fucking day and my kitchen floor isn't going to mop itself. I'll just say this: yelling at your children is the litmus test to make sure you are paying attention. If you're yelling at them, that means you caught their little sneaky asses doing something they had no business doing. You know why my kids aren't making pipe bombs in the basement? Because if it gets quiet for more than five minutes in this house, I know somebody is doing some shit they shouldn't. So, after five minutes free of bickering and mom I need money for xyz, my mommy senses start tingling and I go on a bullshit hunt. No, mom, I'm mixing these chemicals for my science project. Bullshit! No, mom, this isn't a hit list. These are all the people I'm inviting to my birthday party. Bullshit! No, mom, I'm not forwarding naked pictures of my former best friend to the entire sophomore class. Bullshit! I'm not saying my kids don't ever get one over on me, but if they do, it's not for long. I have a special brand of bitchy, guilt-inducing, disappointed, I-will-kick-your-assness that my kids try to avoid, if at all possible.

And no self-righteous, judgmental, childless, mean-girl-turned-fuckwad is going to take that away from me.