Yes, I am a helicopter mum, but did I mention I am an Apache Helicopter loaded with hellfire missiles?

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graphic BAMany mums try to cover up the helicopter instinct, but not me. I am proudly a helicopter mum. I hover around my 5-year-old daughter, Poppy, watching what she does, says, and how she interacts. So what? I want to protect my daughter, just as our soldiers protect us from terrorists. You could also call me a weaponised drone mother, as what I really do is ceaselessly watch, not just what she does, but what the other children do and say to her. The world is at times a cruel and heartless place, and when you are rich and intelligent even more so, as it seems all the world wants a piece of your rightly inherited fortune that your grandfather legitimately made from his bullet factory in Germany during the 1930s. I know Poppy will be persecuted for her beauty, brains, and famously successful parents. I know to protect her I can’t just hover around worrying, but rather I need to hover around and destroy things that are threats to her safety and her feeling of being the greatest in the world, which makes me an Apache Helicopter Mum, aka AHM. Sure, like an Afghan hospital or wedding party gets indiscriminately blown to pieces, there may be collateral damage, like the time I told Poppy to give Gerard a cheese sandwich that was layered with peanut butter before their recital. Gerard’s angelic voice would have shown Poppy up, and I just couldn’t have that happen. When he went into anaphylactic shock, I at least made sure an EpiPen was around. As they say, that’s the price of war.

Gerard surived thanks to me.
Gerrard surived thanks to me.

My husband, Blake, who is an investment banker, tells Poppy the truth: There are winners and losers in the world, but mostly losers, so we winners have to stick together and work to crush and oppress the losers before they start thinking crazy thoughts like they too can be winners. We ask Poppy, “Do you want an iPad, pony, customised bouncy castle, and your other toys valued at $50,000 to be taken away by the losers of this world, who didn’t want to work for it, but just take it anyway? Poppy is smart enough to already hate poor people and losers. So if Poppy is not to end up a loser it is my job as the pilot of my helicopter to ensure she doesn’t lose, ever, about anything. So we do what we need to do. We entered her artwork into a contest where the proceeds went to a children’s cancer ward. Who do you think was the biggest donor to that cancer ward? You guessed it. And who do you think won that contest? Well, at first it wasn’t Poppy, then Blake explained very politely that the much-needed equipment he was willing to buy he may not be able to afford, seeing as his daughter was so upset about not winning. Ensuring Poppy won or letting children die of cancer turned out to be a no-brainer.

So, yes, I interfere. Yes, I control what happens to my daughter.The fact is I am a patriot. I do what our governments have been doing for years: exactly what I want, using violence and bribery to ensure I get all I want for my Poppy. It’s called love, and I am not going to apologise for loving my daughter. Would I cripple a child who I thought would beat Poppy in an egg-and-spoon race? Of course I would. Who wouldn’t? We are raising Poppy to be a winner, win is what she will do, and any parent or child who gets in my way, beware, because hellfire missiles are coming your way.

 

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