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Mother of the Year
I am an expert parent. I have reared an entire houseful of children and they have all emerged squeaky clean and happy as clams. My children love me perpetually, but are independent enough to do things for themselves. They are capable and confident, but they consult with me for my expertise, which I offer willingly.
My children appreciate their time spent at school, remembering they are privileged to attend the prestigious school that they do. They always do their homework promptly. My children never procrastinate. They have received several slightly disappointing grades, but have learned from their experiences and have been inspired to work harder. They write excellent papers and do not hesitate to ask for my learned edits. I offer my wisdom most willingly, and my children absorb each morsel of information just as good children ought: nodding in agreement and muttering hushed appreciative comments regarding my genius.
My children complete their allocated chores with precision and quickness. Under my careful watch, our home remains as a proper home should. My children always make their beds, cautious not to evade their responsibilities to create dainty hospital corners. Their floors are tidy and boast clear pathways from their bedroom doors to their beds. Toiletries are not strewn about in my childrens’s bathroom. The cap is always screwed on the toothpaste. The toilet paper is never neglected, but rather, my children considerately leave the bathroom in conditions optimal for one another. Following showers, my children are careful to absorb puddles that have escaped from the glass shower, replace the bath mat to dry on its rack, and fold their towels sedulously so as not to confuse one child’s towel with the towel of another. They walk the dog without being asked.
Each morning, my children dress for school. They choose carefully, knowing I will have to send them back upstairs to change should their selections prove inappropriate. My daughters know to leave the short shorts behind, and they know I will notice should they wear gaudy layers of makeup. My sons must ensure that their tennis shoes are clean, and that their plaids will not clash. In my home, it is a given that modesty and formality in dress are of the utmost priority.
My angels gratefully eat whichever carefully prepared meal I offer. None has an annoying dietary restriction that burdens the entire family. My children consume the required five servings of fruits and vegetables daily. They always drink milk and swallow down their vitamins. During dinner, my children offer witty and intellectual commentary regarding their days at school. They are never mean to their siblings, but rather, share insightful comments in which their wittiness compensates for the occasional sarcastic undertones. My children ask just the right number of questions of my husband and me, engaging us just enough to allow us several moments to sit back and admire their acute abilities to introduce and sustain intelligent dialogue. We marvel, swirling aged Merlot around our fine-stemmed glasses, and sharing a small sip with those of our children who ask politely.
My children attend to their soiled dishes following the meal. They gather any remaining service pieces and place everything in the dishwasher, dispersing (after asking permission) to attend to their homework and preparations for the next day. My children respect my household restrictions regarding the use of electronics. They never watch television on weeknights, nor do they use social media for purposes other than communicating with friends for homework assistance. When blessed with extra time, my children love nothing more than selecting an engaging book. And regardless of their schedules, my children always tuck themselves into bed right on time.
Outside of school, my children are accomplished athletes, artists, and performers. My children act brilliantly on their fields and stages. When I bring carefully crafted snacks to their events, my children appreciate my traditional orange slices at soccer games and tea before singing recitals. Following their events, my children thank me for their rides as they emerge from the car.
In addition to boosting their resumes through extracurricular prowess, my children recognize the necessity of admittance into respectable institutions of higher education. For this reason, they suffer gladly through SAT prep courses without the slightest complaint. When they dare to question the current administration of our home, their impeccable manners save us all the discomfort of violent discord.
My children employ their extensive manners in all walks of life. They speak with ease and eloquence to adults and strangers. They remember to utter “excuse me”s when appropriate. Distasteful humor is never tolerated. Their friends, also, are polite guests in my home. My childrens’s friends greet me when we cross paths, reminding me of the excellent parents of my childrens’s friends. Occasionally, the anomaly appears, but my husband and I are careful to remove the troubled child from our childrens’s realm.
My children acknowledge the importance of family time. They enjoy games and delight in watching age-appropriate films. My children are amiable in selecting movies. They consider each others’s feelings, catering their selections to the needs of the youngest child regarding language, violence, sexual situations, and scariness.
When my children desire to engage socially with their peers, they offer information about their itineraries without prompting. My children describe when they intend to leave, what they intend to do, where, with whom, and when they intend to return. They promise to answer their phones might I need to check in, but I trust my children implicitly, and therefore, often leave them to make good decisions without interference.
My children always remember to acknowledge my birthday. They select gifts carefully and compose thoughtful cards. When my tears of joy fall, my children rush to collect lotion-infused tissues, as they know that my sensitive skin will not respond well to the rougher varieties.
My children will vote in elections as soon as they are able. They ask before borrowing things. My children always remember to reassemble the newspaper for my husband as it arrived. They eat the chocolate energy bars that accompany my vanilla energy bars, as it is impossible to purchase the vanilla bars without an equal number of undesirable chocolate energy bars. They play outside when asked, take care of one another when necessary, and use our family’s gym membership often enough to make it a financially reasonable investment.
While I strive to remain humble, it is difficult to ignore the stupendous effects of my superior child-rearing ability. As I reflect upon my adventures in motherhood, one conclusion is inescapable. My mother would surely appreciate it if I were more like my children.