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It hit me the other day like a rogue sippy cup to the face—somewhere between wrangling a tantrum and trying to figure out why my three-year-old thinks her Peppa Pig undies belong on the dog, I realized something horrifying.
I am no longer the Cady Heron of my own story. Nope.
Those days of trying to find my place in the social jungle of high school (or, let’s be honest, the PTA) are long gone.
I am Ms. Norbury.
The exhausted, over-caffeinated, no-nonsense adult who just wants everyone to stop making life harder than it needs to be.
And honestly? I am at peace with it.
Welcome to Mom Life, Where Chaos Is the Norm
Let’s set the scene:
- My eight-year-old has beef with her best friend because “she breathed near my snack.”
- My five-year-old is inexplicably wearing a tiara and swim goggles to dinner.
- My three-year-old is arguing with the cat.
- And my husband? He’s hiding in the garage pretending to “fix” something, but we all know he’s just scrolling his phone in peace.
I step into the middle of the madness, coffee in hand, and hear myself say it:
“You guys have got to stop calling each other stupid. It’s not okay.”
Sound familiar?
Suddenly, I am Ms. Norbury standing in front of a room full of hormonal teens, begging them to stop tearing each other apart.
Only instead of teenagers, my audience consists of small, irrational humans who think applesauce is a condiment and that bedtime is a government conspiracy.
“You Need to Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself”
Ah, one of Ms. Norbury’s most iconic lines. And if that isn’t a whole mood for motherhood, I don’t know what is.
Parenting is basically one long exercise in self-checking before completely losing it over someone spilling an entire cup of milk on the couch for the third time today.
I mean, I have literally had to pause and remind myself:
- Don’t yell about the mess—just hand them a rag and breathe through it.
- Don’t laugh when they ask why Dad can pee standing up but they can’t. (Save that moment for group chat.)
- Don’t give up when they demand the “blue cup” even though they just saw it go into the dishwasher.
Every single day, I am walking the fine line between wanting to throw my hands up and doing my best to be the voice of reason. It is exhausting.
“I’m a Pusher. I Push People.”
Oh, Ms. Norbury, I feel you, girl.
Moms are the ultimate pushers—not in the Regina George way, but in the I believe in you, now please for the love of all things holy, put your shoes on way.
We are pushing our kids to:
- Try one bite of a vegetable.
- Be nice to their siblings.
- Remember where their shoes are. (Why are they always missing??)
- Flush the toilet (seriously, why is this so difficult?).
We push them to be decent humans even when it would be easier to let them run wild like tiny feral creatures. Because at the end of the day, we want them to grow up knowing how to be kind, respectful, and capable of handling life.
Even if they don’t fully appreciate the effort now.
The Cafeteria Scene… but It’s My Living Room
Remember when Ms. Norbury forced all the girls to gather in the gym and made them own up to their actions?
Yeah. That’s basically my living room on a daily basis.
- One kid is crying.
- One kid is yelling.
- Someone is apologizing aggressively without really meaning it.
- And I’m just trying to prevent someone from physically launching themselves onto the couch in frustration.
It’s like I’m constantly refereeing a tiny version of the Burn Book drama, except instead of nasty rumors, it’s things like, “She stole my purple crayon and she KNEW I wanted to use it first.”
We’re All Just Trying Our Best
At the end of Mean Girls, Ms. Norbury is still doing her best, just like all of us moms out here in the trenches.
We are tired, we are outnumbered, and we are just trying to get through the day without anyone emotionally or physically imploding.
So yeah, I may not be the cool, carefree main character anymore. But if being Ms. Norbury means I’m helping my kids navigate their emotions, learn from their mistakes, and maybe grow into decent adults someday…
Then honestly? I’ll take it.
(And if anyone needs me, I’ll be in the kitchen, reheating my coffee for the third time.)
