My post yesterday reminded me of an old email I received 2 years ago. I shared it on Cafemom as a journal entry thankfully and was able to retrieve it for a smile today. Now I know why the "Mean Mom" label didn't hurt so bad. I'm a proud "Mean Mom", are you?

MEAN MOM

Someday when my children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates a parent, I will tell them, as my Mean Mom told me:

I loved you enough to ask where you were going, with whom, and what time you would be home.

I loved you enough to be silent and let you discover that your new best friend was a creep.

I loved you enough to stand over you for two hours while you cleaned your room, a job that should have taken 15 minutes.

I loved you enough to let you see anger, disappointment, and tears in my eyes. Children must learn that their parents aren't perfect.

I loved you enough to let you assume the responsibility for your actions even when the penalties were so harsh they almost broke my heart.

But most of all, I loved you enough to say NO when I knew you would hate me for it.

Those were the most difficult battles of all. I'm glad I won them, because in the end you won, too.

And someday when your children are old enough to understand the logic that motivates parents, you will tell them.

Was your Mom mean? I know mine was. We had the meanest mother in the whole world! While other kids ate candy for breakfast, we had to have cereal, eggs, and toast.

When others had a Pepsi and a Twinkie for lunch, we had to eat sandwiches.

And you can guess our mother fixed us a dinner that was different from what other kids had, too.

Mother insisted on knowing where we were at all times. You'd think we were convicts in a prison. She had to know who our friends were, and what we were doing with them. She insisted that if we said we would be gone for an hour, we would be gone for an hour or less.

We were ashamed to admit it, but she had the nerve to break the Child Labor Laws by making us work. We had to wash the dishes, make the beds, learn to cook, vacuum the floor, do laundry, empty the trash and all sorts of cruel jobs. I think she would lie awake at night thinking of more things for us to do.

She always insisted on us telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. By the time we were teenagers, she could read our minds and had eyes in the back of her head. Then, life was really tough!

Mother wouldn't let our friends just honk the horn when they drove up. They had to come up to the door so she could meet them.

While everyone else could date when they were 12 or 13, we had to wait until we were 16.

Because of our mother we missed out on lots of things other kids experienced. None of us have ever been caught shoplifting, vandalizing other's property or ever arrested for any crime.

It was all her fault.

Now that we have left home, we are all educated, honest adults. We are doing our best to be mean parents just like Mom was.

I think that is what's wrong with the world today.

It just doesn't have enough mean moms!

"Good for the body is the work of the body, good for the soul the work of the soul, and good for either the work of the other. ~Henry David Thoreau"

A fellow COL Girl, -- I love writing that. I'm not sure if it is because if you are from certain states you might pronounce it as "Call" Girl or not, but it utterly amuses me. Anyways, as I was saying; while reading through other COL Girls blogs this evening, I jumped onto one of my favorite Friday evening posts, Lizzi's, "It's Friday evening and this is what I'm thinking. Which if you don't frequent, is a weekly ponder of all kinds of things on her mind. It's very enjoyable to read and it usually makes me giggle or at least, puts a smile on my face.

Well, in her ponders tonight, she asked what we like about our body's before continuing with her personal favorite features. I'm not giving away any more of her blog entry, so go read it. I listed the link above and if you aren't following her, I recommend you do. She's a great writer!!

Anyways, back on topic. I have been hard on myself lately because for some reason or another since I hit 30 (probably more around 29-1/2 when I started realizing how close to 30 I really was) my metabolism just stopped. Not slowed, just stopped and I haven't been happy with my appearance. It seems to be taking on a new shape, one that I am not happily embracing.

But, this question (thanks, Lizzi!) really made me reflect and I finally realized what I DO love about my body.

I love my stomach. Yes, it is rounding out a bit and is in serious need of some toning; and although it does not have one stretch mark the skin has lost it's elasticity but none-the-less, for a good reason. For 27 months within a 5 year period, it was where I harbored my three boys. It's also what my boys like to lay on and once were so kind enough to tell me that it's because "it's as soft as a pillow." (If only they knew how many crunches I did that night after that loving term of endearment.) Every time I look down and am unhappy with the way it looks, I try to remind myself of those flutters and kicks I once felt. It usually makes me stand a bit taller, which in return makes my stomach look a lot nicer.

I love my hips. These new curves and hour glass figure that I now possess have become my boy's favorite resting spot when I pick them up. Something that once shocked me in the mirror has become so necessary in motherhood. During colicky hours, reassurance after a boo-boo and just when they are too tired to walk. These hips were created with my boys in mind.

I love my arms. Who knew that my skinny little arms could carry so much weight? They are getting a bit flabby now that the boys aren't in constant need of being carried around and they are losing their tone. But, they are once where I rocked my babies to sleep. And still today, what I wrap around my boys and embrace in a big bear hug. They carry enough strength to pull all three of my children away from danger and carry them off to safety but are delicate enough to make me feel feminine.

I love my smile. I may have big uneven teeth with a space between my front two (I know Mom, I should still where my retainer) and they may be a little yellow from the over-indulgence of Starbucks, but every time I smile I can feel my face glow. It makes me happy to watch my children grow and experience knew things. And it makes them proud to see me smiling back at them. It may not be the most perfect smile but it's enough to let my children know how much I love them.

I love my eyes. The dark circles underneath from years of lack of sleep are no match for the love that you can see when you look into them. I am a deep person and everything about me could be read through my big browns. They are youthful but aged. They are innocent but experienced. And you can always get sincere honesty by looking at them.

I love my nose. Did you read that? I LOVE my nose. My "Wicked Witch" nose that it was once labeled with the ugly bump that made me throughout my childhood hate to have someone look at my profile is now one of my favorite features. Wanna know why? Because, three little boys who will one day find their own self-proclaimed imperfections that they will one day complain about. One day they will find one part of their perfect bodies flawed and I will look at them adoringly and tell them why that part of them is perfect.

I may not have that teeny waist that I once had and my age may be starting to show along my eyes and mouth, but I am embracing my body and the years of experience that it is starting to show. It may have its imperfections and I am working on the ones that I can. The things I can't, I am finding aren't so bad after all. And the best part, in my children's eyes, I am a beautiful princess and my husband still looks at me the same way he did when we first met. What could be better than that?

Thank you boys, for this beautiful curvy body that you helped shape and my renewed self-respect and esteem.