She's a middle-aged mama in Fort Dodge, Iowa, who told her teenage son that no means no.

She meant it, too.

Imagine that. A parent who parents.

Her son broke a rule, and she enforced the penalty. Now, Jane Hambleton is the Meanest Mom on the Planet and a hero to parents all across America. She's more than a breath of fresh air. She is a tsunami of sanity.

Last November, Hambleton and her husband bought their 19-year-old son, Steven, a 1999 Oldsmobile Intrigue. He's a college freshman, and they thought he could use some wheels.

"It was an awesome car," she told Mom Logic, an online magazine.

For the record, she said her son is awesome, too.

Mom had two rules for the car: No booze. Keep it locked.

Three weeks later, Mom's radar kicked in. "I had a feeling," she said in interviews.

Most mothers know exactly what she means. You look at the child you've loved through tantrums and throw up and all sorts of mischief blamed on dogs, siblings and invisible friends, and you just know that something's up. Suddenly, the kid is calling you ma'am and complimenting your hair, or his cell phone rings while you're talking and he just waves at it and says, "Oh, I can talk to friends anytime. Now, what were you saying, Mom?"

Immediately, that little place in your brain reserved for offspring reconnaissance starts beeping like the theft detector at Target.

Hambleton's radar led her straight to the underbelly of Steven's front car seat. She leaned down, took a peak and there it was: A bottle of Smirnoff's Pomegranate Fusion.

If this were MTV's "My Super Sweet 16" show, a debate would ensue. Lots of hand-wringing as parents try to decide whether junior still gets the BMW or is downgraded to a brand-new Mustang. And they'd be blaming each other for their son's lousy taste in booze.

But in Fort Dodge, Iowa, home of the Meanest Mom on the Planet, retribution was faster than you can say, "Better pump the air back into the tires of your Schwinn, son."

Steven insisted the alcohol wasn't his, and Hambleton believed him, bless her motherly heart. But a rule had been broken, and the car was history.

Hambleton writes copy for radio stations, so she put her skills to work. With an obvious nod to her son's indignation, she composed this classified ad for The Des Moines Register:

"OLDS 1999 Intrigue. Totally uncool parents who obviously don't love teenage son, selling his car. Only driven for three weeks before snoopy mom who needs to get a life found booze under front seat. $3,700/offer. Call meanest mom on the planet."

Overnight, Hambleton was a star.

Dozens and dozens of people started calling, not to buy the car, but to tell her that she was their idea of a hero. Emergency room nurses called. So did high school counselors, parole officers and a whole bunch of parents who just wanted to thank her for restoring some dignity to a much-maligned role.

Talk shows called, too. Mom and son went on "Good Morning America," where Steven said he didn't know about the ad until he answered his mother's ringing cell phone.

"Someone asked for the Meanest Mom on the Planet, and I said, 'Well, hmm, she's right here.'" Then he handed the phone to his mother. That's when she explained what was going on.

Since then, newspapers and blogs across the country and around the world are running stories about the Meanest Mom on the Planet. More talk shows are calling, too. Ellen DeGeneres wants them on the show, but so does Oprah, and she wants exclusivity.

In the meantime, the car has been sold, and Hambleton has apologized to her son for humiliating him in public.

"I said to Steven," she told Mom Logic, "'Maybe this is your purpose in life. You may have saved a young boy or girl who was going to get behind the wheel and drink, and now they won't because they were threatened by their own parents after reading the ad.'"

Long live the Meanest Mom on the Planet.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and the author of two books from Random House: "Life Happens" and "… and His Lovely Wife." To find out more about Connie Schultz ([email protected]) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.