What Did I Do To Deserve This?

Momist - a fault finder; from the Latin Momus...a Greek divinity, the god of ridicule who, for his censures upon the gods, was banished from heaven; hence, a captious critic.

And now we have it, the real root of the word "Mom." Here I thought it was a term of endearment, but lately in our house, the definition above seems to fit better. If you're like me, you look at your kids throughout the day and find that you have to correct them. Either straighten their hair, unwrinkle their clothes or suggest to them that they shave. Usually, this is met with an annoying grunt. Sometimes, if it's a particularly happy day, it's met with deep disdain and dark looks. Gosh, that makes me feel all warm inside.

I figure that one of my jobs is to make sure my kids look OK as they venture out into the world. If they have an especially important event, I might suggest a wardrobe switch. What they don't understand is that I'm doing it for them! Hell, this isn't for my own health - often these "adjustments" make my day more difficult. A teenager that has to change a shirt is certainly not going to refold that shirt and put it away. No, it's going to be flung on the floor in anger and disgust to marinate in the swamp that's on his floor so that I get to...GASP...do more laundry! Be still my heart.

What is it about motherhood that puts us in the position of telling somebody something for their own good, only to have it responded to with a hatred usually reserved for pond scum?

I've thought about the alternative - i.e. letting them leave the house with their zipper open, their hair looking like a camel chewed on it or their shirt on inside out. I've visualized those moments clearly as my child goes through his/her day. It always ends with them stomping in the door at 3:15 pm screaming: "Why didn't you tell me I had toothpaste around my mouth?!"

Somehow the intervention anger is easier to take. Call me a masochist.