Confession: I am a Facebook junkie. Ever since that first little thrill 2+ years ago when I got my first friend request, I’ve been hooked. Drama comes and drama goes, but for the most part, I like having a window on my friends’ lives, particularly those I’m close to emotionally but am far apart from geographically.

Last night, I saw a post from a good friend, “My daughter is currently crying herself  to sleep because I’m the meanest mommy in the world.” Like most moms on Facebook, I probably see 2-3 of these types of statuses a week.

“I’m a horrible mother because I made him eat broccoli.”

“She hates me because I won’t let her have an iphone.”

“They’ll never take care of me when I’m old if I make them clean up their rooms.” (This last one is mine.)

Most of these posts are followed by comments about how awful it is when your kids are mad at you, or they think you’re mean, or how much it hurts when they say they hate you. And yes, I am the first to say that it does sting when your 5 year old tells you you’re the meanest person in the whole, wide world and she will never forgive you for your gross indiscretion (like failing to buy the sparkly pink sneakers, which have no foot support and cost four times as much as the perfectly nice not sparkly pink sneakers). But you know what else I feel when I hear my kids say things like that to me?

Confirmation.

Validation.

Recognition.

If my kids are mad at me because I’m setting limits and denying them foolish extravagances, it means I’m doing the right thing as a parent. Limits should bother them initially. Limits should show them that sometimes they have to deny themselves what they want at the moment in order to learn to be a stronger person with a firm, moral center. Limits should teach them that I know better than they do what is right for them and that I will enforce what I believe is right until they can be trusted to know what is right for them. This shouldn’t go over well.

I’m not saying that every limit has to be a fight. I’m saying that if a limit set starts a fight, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. My children are still young, and I’m still in the benevolent dictatorship phase of parenthood. I am in charge and if they don’t like it – tough noogies. I don’t have to explain my rules or decrees. They are what they are.

When my children have established some degree of maturity (probably about the time they stop eating crayons and sleeping without a nightlight), I have no problem explaining why I do what I do. Why can’t you go to the party where no parents will be home? Because dozens of teenagers alone in a house can lead to underage drinking and drug use and sexual activity.

And if they don’t like the reason, it won’t change my decision. If they want to hate me, they are free to do so.

My parents raised 5 children. No alcoholics, teen pregnancies or rampant drug use in the bunch of us. And my mother had a saying:

“I’m a very successful parent. All my kids hate me.”

I didn’t get into this mothering gig to make friends with my kids. They can hate me all they want while they’re young. I’m betting they’ll forgive me by the time they’re in the 20’s and see how the limits we’ve set have set them up for a successful life. Then we can be friends.

I can wait.