Come love your mother!
Leaving the rink today, there were two moms there who brought their kids to terrorize the adult skaters on open skate with their hockey shit. You know the kind: fake highlights, ponytail pulled through the back of a baseball cap, puffy vests making their seasonal return.
I am also horrified by the Karens. You know the kind: the razor cut, pursed lips, always suitably outraged about something or other.
I also dislike the skate mom, the helicopter parent, the scammer, the high maintenance partier past her expiration date, and the checked-out mom who pays no attention to their kids being terrors in public.
So I guess I know what kind of mom I am. The judgmental bitch.
I wonder why it matters so much that I balance my rep as a mom with society. That I shower him with almost everything he wants, but don't spoil him. That I protect him but not insulate him. Raise him in our shadow but let him be his own person.
So I guess in addition to judging these other moms, I'm judging myself too. He's to the stage where he resists the affection I want to heap on him, but will grab my hand and kiss it. I think he's trying to balance between being a kid and a teenager as well.
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