Why, yes, it IS my job.
Since you asked, yes, I AM the "meanest" mother of all your friends' mothers. As you can see, this doesn't bother me. Not because I am mean. Because I love you. That doesn't mean that you have to be thrilled about every decision I make.
Yes, that embarrasses you. But not as much as if I walked around in public with my finger up my nose to the first knuckle, or wearing a muumuu with sandals and hairy legs, or with dirty hair and a cigarette hanging from my lip.
You will NOT wear the word "Juicy" across your behind-- temporarily or permanently.
You WILL ingest protein of some kind each day.
You will NOT raise your voice to your parents in public-- and even when you do it in private, there will be consequences.
You WILL read before you get to watch TV.
But even after your litany of complaints, my darling, and of snapping your head back and expelling disgusted gusts of air heavenward until you have affected global warming, and flouncing and stamping hard enough to register on a seismograph, even after you've ruined my favorite mukluks* because you now can wear my shoes(!), you may still drape your lissome little arms around my neck in public and put your weight on my aching back and purr "Mommmmmmy!"
And I will smile my secret smile and not tweak you for your mood swings.
Because loving you is my job. When you like it, and even when you don't.
* From Mama, Do You Love Me? by Barbara M. Joosse