A Bad Mom Trying

Am I a bad mother if....?

I let Deal wear sunshine yellow socks to school with his gray New Balance sneakers?

I add a wee bit of sugar to my kids' cinnamon toast in the morning?

I let Bird and Deal see me naked through the glass shower door?

I use the TV as my own personal mute button to make my kids settle down so I can (pick one): breathe, pee, poop, cook dinner, check email, bid on a Trina Turk dress on eBay, order new sheets from Pottery Barn, call a friend, pet the cat, shut myself in my closet?

I tell my kids when their behavior disappoints me?

I scream at my kids just shy of letting the f-bomb drop?

I pretend to be asleep when Deal peeks into our room in the morning before 7:00AM?

I look forward to my nanny time?

I sometimes want my children to STOP. TOUCHING. ME.?

I pretend to have to go to the bathroom just to get 3 seconds of peace?

I let my kids eat Spiderman fruit snacks before dinner?

I rarely (pick one): vacuum, dust, mop, sweep, change sheets between cleaning lady visits?

I don't feel guilty for working part-time?

I don't feel guilty for missing bed time to meet friends for drinks instead?

I don't feel guilty for not feeling guilty?

I pick the books at the library that have the fewest words?

I nap during a movie at the theater, after being overstuffed with popcorn?

I don't make home baked birthday cakes, cookies, or other treats?

I don't keep a scrapbook?

I have more pictures of Bird than Deal?

I sneak fries while my kids eat fruit?

I will never make a home made Halloween costume?

I already hate of my sons' future girlfriends?

I forgot for a wee moment that I had kids while away on my girls' weekend?

I don't want to be on the PTA?

I kiss my husband in front of my kids?

I don't tolerate Raffi or other such kid tunes in my car?

I don't say bed time prayers?

I am saving for my kids' future therapy?

I stopped trying to be perfect?


Let's face it. I can't compete with the uber moms of the world. You know who you are. I used to spite you. Then I was jealous, with a hint of envy. Then I became disinterested, thinking that if I pretended you didn't exist you would go away. Now I surrender. I stopped caring. Not about Bird and Deal. About competing.

Trying to be perfect, or fit someone else's version of it anyway, sucked when we were in 8th grade. It sucked more in high school. It still sucked in the sorority days of college. I figured at the ripe age of 39 I'd be over the Queen Bee drama of womanhood, motherhood, peoplehood. I am done. I can't and won't compete. I'm in a good place, even if that means being a not-so-great mom once in a while.

How about you? Tell me your shortcomings and victories.