Mean Mom

That would be me.

On Friday, M had a little fiasco with frozen limeade concentrate. He decided, for unclear reasons, to take container of frozen limeade concentrate as his cool-pak for his lunch. At some point in the afternoon, the concentrate had melted sufficiently, and the tube was punctured, creating a really big mess.

He came home, took his binder out, left it on the stairs and took the backpack and lunch bag to the basement to be washed, which they were.

All day long today I asked him to get his backpack together. At 7:45 he finally does. (Bedtime is 8:30 and he still needs a shower.) Of course, he can't find it. He expects all of us to drop everything and look for it. I refuse to.

His teacher this year is very good. She's all about personal responsibility and organization.

M is wailing, feeling sorry for himself, puttering around and sulking, not really looking. This is most definitely his responsibility, not mine - or his dad's or his brother's or his sister's. Unless he can figure out what he did with it in the next five minutes or in the morning, he'll have consequences with his teacher. I'm fine with that. He needs to learn this lesson.

I do feel bad for the kid - I do. But he needs to learn this.

Yeah, I'm a mean mom.