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How to tell a great mother

It's simple to tell a good mother. It's the child you look at to find out how good the mother is. Why does it take a man who has never raised a child to tell you this obvious fact?

And her daughter, Frances Bean, is very mature.

Read the interview below and you can see that Courtney's daughter's conversation is not overblown and not filled with absolutes. You can end up with problems when a child has no supervision as their thoughts easily grow out of proportion with reality. They can very easily become stimulus governed and that sometimes leads to problems in their later life.

You also end up with a problem when a child is taught rote. The child is dull and life is just a set of rules. Many of those children are dead inside by 25 and have nothing to offer the world.

Courtney somehow raised a non -stimulus governed daughter and that rarely happens with a stimulus governed mother. How did she manage it so well?

I don't know! Anything else I say is just blah blah but here it is anyway. Or drop down to the interview.

People are so judgmental as to assume their narrow ways are the only valid ways to raise children.

They will automatically decide a mother is wrong to teach their child Chinese before it can speak English properly. Sometimes even if the family lives in China.

Two hundred and fifty years ago there was a six year old child that worked in the fields from sunrise to sunset. Los Angels Child Protection would say that this was destructive to the child's inner growth and that it would limit his potentials in the future. They would take away the child and put the parents in prison for years for abusing their child. That child's name was George Washington. And he worked in the fields of his fathers plantation for about three years solid until he went to school, but even then he still worked summers. He got out easy though. By the age of 11 he got to ride a horse and direct the field hands while Thomas Jefferson spent four years in the field and I never got a horse. (Notice how when I I talk about unpleasant memories I suddenly shift and distance myself from them by writing in the third person.)

Then there are those two hippy grateful deadheads that raised their daughter Courtney Love on the road and in communes. She is now one of the most constructive and creative artists on the face of the earth.

Then you have Los Angels Child Protection approved-perfect-parents like top recording company executive Jose and Kitty whose two sons became known as 'Menendez brothers' after they blew them both away with 12 guage shotguns just so they could get ahold of their own inheritance early.

It seems they just learned their family values, specifically the father's creedo of being a ruthless recording executive: 'Do unto artists and others whatever you want and use your greed to ruthlessly take it all even to the death unless you get caught. Then when claiming to be innocent doesn't work anymore turn it all around. Make your victims into victimizers and you become their victim'.

Son's whose values would make the most ruthless of recording executives burst with pride.

So look to a child to determine how good a mother is and never judge a mother by your standards. By doing it this way it is both accurate and takes your personal values out the equation which is where they should never be in the first place. Child protection services forgot this and just mis-judged Miss Courntey Love on mainly her actions.

The interview

This is a conversation between Courtney And her daughter Francis Bean. It is excerpted from a Blender Magazine article from May 2004 You will see what I mean when I say Frances is wise beyond her years as you ask yourself 'which one is the mother?' That is the effect of loving your children.

Back upstairs, Frances, in her fantasy Grammy gown, is teaching Grandpa Frank a series of dance steps for the after-parties she hopes to attend. “We’re going, aren’t we, Mommy?” she asks. “Of course!” Love answers. Love asks Blender which stars are scheduled to attend the ceremonies, and Blender proceeds to reel off the names. “Hear that, Frances? The White Stripes! Maybe I’ll meet Jack White and he’ll be my new boyfriend! Sometimes,” she offers, “mommies need to get laid, too.” “But Mommy,” Frances replies, “you intimidate men.” Blender then mentions that Janet Jackson has declined to appear on account of the fallout from her Super Bowl flashdance. “Janet Jackson was…inappropriate,” Frances argues. “But I’ve shown my tits in front of people, honey,” Love counters.

“But this was in front of children,” Frances says with great wisdom, and with that walks out of the bedroom.

Frances Bean Cobain is a healthy, good-hearted, engaged, by-all-appearances normal 11-year-old girl who’s also the spitting image of her late dad. “She’s a sweeter person than her father, that’s for sure,” James Barber says. “She’s open and trusting. She’s her mother’s child.”

The famous rock & roll offspring is crazy about animals — Frances has had 18 pets, including horses, and loves to ride. Her favorite subject is science. Her favorite TV show is Charmed. She thinks Justin Timberlake is gross: “Yuccch!” If she wrote an autobiography, she says, she would title it The Girl Who Never Gave Up. She very obviously loves her mom.

The day before, Frances came by the Blender photo shoot accompanied by Love’s stepfather, Frank Rodriguez, a calm, tender, 60-year-old retired schoolteacher who is currently acting as Frances’s guardian while Love pursues reunification with her daughter. Love is allowed unlimited visits with Frances as long as Rodriguez is present.

As Mom is painstakingly tended to by a hair-and-makeup team, Frances runs over and gives her a big kiss and a hug. Talk quickly turns to this weekend’s Grammy Awards. They are going to attend together — Courtney, Frances and Frank — and Frances is practically jumping out of her skin with excitement. She has brought along the dress she picked out for the night’s festivities, a pale blue Betsey Johnson satin slip dress.

“Come here, baby, and show Mommy your dress!” Love cries as her hair-and-makeup attendants hopelessly attempt to keep her still. Frances pulls out the dress and anxiously holds it up to her torso. “Do you like it, Mommy?”

“I do, Franny, it’s beautiful, but I think it may be a bit too sexy. Go and try it on, and we’ll Polaroid it.” Love’s eyes well with tears. “My baby’s all grown up,” she says. “I can’t believe it.” “Mommy, puh-leeze, no more crying,” Frances says.

Love manages a laugh. “She’s tired of seeing Mommy cry.”

“It’s OK, Mommy,” Frances says. “I don’t have to wear this dress.” For an 11-year-old, her empathy is acute: She knows that the Grammy night is not just a fun, dressy mother/daughter night out, but a crucial opportunity to show the world that they belong together, that they love each other, that their lives aren’t one continuous reenactment of Mommie Dearest.

“Tell you what, baby,” Love says. “I bet you the nice stylist here can make you your very own dress! And you can draw what you want it to look like and pick out the colors and everything.” Frances lights up — what 11-year-old girl wouldn’t? — and she begins frantically describing her dream gown to the clothing stylist.

“Just don’t make my daughter look like some 15-year-old trying to get backstage,” Love cackles. “I know that look.”