sMother: (noun), as in a mother who smothers. A mother whose hypervigilant hovering, constant emotional redirection and excruciating involvement in their kid’s every tic, rant and loose stool is downright clinical.  A sMother can be found refereeing playdates, manning the slide at parks, and always in a doctor’s office. A kid of a sMother is rarely allowed to eat his first tree nut without a paramedic on deck, nor skip through a park without strict instructions for skipping.

Sad part is: they’re everywhere, these sMothers with their mini antibacterial bottles clipped to key chains, flashcards rubberbanded in their purses—and they’re dangerous, viral.

My biggest concern is, of course, a mostly selfish one. I’m worried my kids might someday date/marry/shack up with a kid of a sMother and I can only assume the racket of dealing with a partner who’s never picked out her own socks, who’s never been allowed to dismember a dung beetle, one appendage at a time.

I’m no psychologist, but based on my vast experience with psychosis I sort of should be, and so have compiled this handy guide to reference next time you’re sharing a bench with a sMother and wonder, what kind is she? They’re a species and should be duly categorized:

1. The First-Aid sMother: Good on her, she’s got a Ziploc baggie busting with Neosporin and band-aids and anti-venom, but she’s still making her second grader sit in a bucket swing.  She volunteers to man the first-aid table at the school’s annual fundraiser.

2. The “No-Touchy” sMother:  You can hear that grating chirp in your sleep. “No touchy, Timmy, that’s a flower and flowers should be looked at not touched. No touchy the dirt Timmy, no touchy the doggie, no touchy your friends, your food, your eyes, your penis. Timmy, did you hear me? The world doesn’t like to be touched.” You will smuggle a gift card for counseling into Timmy’s pinch-free lunch pail.

3. The Grammar sMother: Former English teacher turned full-time mom. She can’t get her job back, nor can she get off her high-horse about bygone rules.  She makes you self-conscious of every word so you shut up when she shows up at the school’s annual fundraiser and sits her schoolmarm ass at your picnic table.

4. The Choking sMother:  She choked on a grape once and can’t get over it. Her kid is ten and she still shreds his cheese sticks into smithereens.  You saw her the other day, fishing Cheerios out of her teenager’s mouth, all petulant and singsongy: One at a time, sweetie, one at time.

5. The Academic sMother: She goes beyond quizzing her kid in the car, at story time, at the dinner table.  What’s this letter? What’s five times five? Who gave the Gettysburg Address? This sMother supplements the rigors of private school with pop quizzes at breakfast, trips to art museums and re-runs of Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. She makes you feel like a dope, so at the annual school fundraiser  you start a rumor that she’s a stripper.

Five types, all of them equally detrimental to the psyche of this up and coming generation. It’ll be a fetid pool of wishy-washy, scaredy cats without a single lumpy scar to show off at a bar someday—if you don’t intervene.

You can get a sMother help. Send her here: www.halfassedmom.com. I can set her straight. Sure I can.