Yo Mama


Looking back on the ten schools I survived, moving from cafeteria to cafeteria not knowing a soul, I am a grown woman who holds a pillow over my head during the scariest movie ever, “Mean Girls.” God, middle school girls and boys can be ruthless.

I got through those years barely eaten alive, just barely, and so I look back now in gratitude for I realize they gave me survivor skills no one else could possibly grasp, and my girls are going to need me.

It’s already begun.

Henderson pulls and yanks Lola‘s hair, teasing her, broke her mood bracelet, a special gift from her Papa. Makaila, my Kat, only ten, got slapped by a girl on the bus, which I hear her father echoed by my parents back in the day and all the others today and my eye begins to twitch.

“Now did you tell the bus driver?”

“Did you get a teacher?”

“Should I go up to the school?” Their eyes roll and so do mine.

Amateurs.

Divorcee makes me laugh, his outrage over anyone hurting his girls makes him a little psycho, Kat giggling and telling me he is teaching her to protect herself by boxing with her.

The man is a lover not a fighter.

I realized it was time to break out the Middle School Guru, the unorthodox teachings from within, wax on, wax off girls.

I can imagine being on the Dr.Phil show, PTA ladies throwing rocks and chairs at me.

I am constantly amazed at the amount of parents WHO DO NOT GET IT, people whom never attended Middle School or were raised on farms with clucking chickens for their advice would have you killed back in my day.

Just in case, if this is my only moment to address you, if you are having a middle school child bullied, please don’t volunteer at the school or eat lunch with your child. Yes, that’s right. It’s not helping, trust me.

Please listen to the plea of different clothing, even if you found it at a great garage sale and only spent two dollars for sneakers, you don’t have to indulge children but you don’t have to set them up for a nightmare.

Just cause Your Nana bought a Bedazzler doesn’t mean your child HAS to sport the jeweled sweater. Don’t throw them to the wolves. For most of you, stopping there makes perfect sense but for me, I have a craft to Middle School Survival, available now for 9.99 in my ebook.

Just kidding.

It’s called humor, not always the nice kind, but finely tuned armor of sarcasm that at any moment could stop a predator in his tracks, or pee, from laughter or even fear at the right time, could save a life. Or a seat on the bus.

“Here goes, girls,” I said, cracking my knuckles. Introduction to the “Yo Mama.” Kat crinkled her nose. Lola looked up in interest. Let the madness, or bad parenting begin.

“Hey Henderson!” I yelled it for dramatic emphasis. (this is when you wait for quiet and everyone to look, a pause)

You don’t like my hair? Really?

I raise my voice till they both look at me, wide eyed, a little astonished. This signals to come in for the kill.

“Yo Mama is so fat she has to iron her clothes in the driveway! My last diarrhea looked a lot like HER FACE. She is SO fat people jog AROUND her.

YO Mama is SO FAT you slap her butt and can ride the waves!!”

Lola starts to giggle. Wax on. I continue. The Medicine Woman of childhood cruelty.

“Don’t wait for someone to laugh. Don’t look to the right or left to see who is watching or if its working. You need your opponent in the corner and with little time to even respond.

They need to know they have no idea what hit them, but remember girls, you need an audience, and an exit strategy, and middle schoolers smell fear, so throw the Yo
Mama, and pretend nothing touched you, not even a broken bracelet, and exit with one of the following looks..

Kat interrupts. “Mom, can you write that down?”

Lola begins her own version in the mirror, way funnier than I could invent.

Clearly, she is a natural.

I know it’s not nice or politically correct and could get you in trouble, but it’s not violent, is stressed is only used in self defense,

But I’m a mama bear, and don’t mess with my cubs.

“Make him wish he were a redhead,” I say, and let’s hope his mama isn’t at Field Day.”

Wax off.

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