Confessions of a bad mom

• I put the Cheez Its and the Doughnuts at the front of the conveyer belt in the grocery store line and all of the fruits, vegetables and dairy products at the end so that the person in line behind me thinks I eat well and don’t feed my kids all this crap.

• I wait to bring in the shopping bags until my sitter is paid and gone- so that she does not know I did nothing productive during the day, but instead hit the sale at J Crew.

• I can no longer jump on the trampoline with my children without peeing just a little.

• I bake brownies before a playdate- not because I am a fabulous hostess, but so that the smell of brownies will outweigh the eggs-for-breakfast-barf-on-the-carpet-lost-string-cheese-under-the-couch-pet-bunny smell that has taken over the house.

• I set the clock ahead so that bedtime comes sooner!

• I throw away artwork and school work when my kids are not looking (I go so far as to walk them outside to the trash can so the kids do not discover them in the bin inside).

• I buy ugly clothes if they are marked a size smaller and fit me.

• My girlfriend and I schedule playdates at 4 PM so that we can watch Oprah while the kids play in the other room, only occasionally having to yell to them “Work it out”!

• We loudly scream “Stop yelling or you’ll wake your brother”! (I even watched a mom in the mall play place reprimand her toddler who had smacked another child by saying “We do not hit”… while spanking him). Oh the irony.

• I love to play games that allow me to lie down (playing dentist- I get to be the patient who lies down and closes her eyes while the “dentist” checks me out OR better yet- I hide in my daughter’s tent- which has been permanently erected in my bedroom- when we play hide-and-seek so that I can close my eyes and lie down for a few minutes until she finds me).

• I told my daughter that she was allergic to animals so that we would not have to get a pet.

• I love to go to the dentist or OBGYN just to have some “alone time” sans children.

• I fear the day when I can no longer help my daughter with homework because she knows more than I do.

• My son had Sun Chips and string cheese for breakfast with a lollipop chaser this morning.

• I can brush my teeth, pee and wash my hair all at the same time in the shower! (Speaking of peeing- as mothers, we are no longer able to go into the bathroom without someone following us, opening the door or banging on the locked door. Now that I think about it- peeing in the shower is probably the only place I can use the restroom without an audience -but most of the time I’ve got two kids in there too)!

• My girlfriend and I were at a breakfast meeting when we ran into our acquaintance, who looked like she was just about to pop. I asked when she was due- to which she replied “December 25th”. “Oh, how exciting”! I said “You can tell him he has the same birthday as Santa”! To which my friend, not missing a beat, corrected me- “Or Jesus”! Oh yeah, that’s right. The 25th isn’t Santa’s birthday- it is Jesus’. When is Santa’s birthday anyway? Maybe the kids and I should head to mass.

• I secretly wish I could have a meltdown like my kids do when not given the right colored Kool Aid. (Wouldn’t it be liberating if we had the freedom and lack of self control to simply drop to the floor in tears ourselves when we discover the calorie count in the Cinnabon we just ate, or that our scale was actually 5 pounds light)?

• When my daughter was a baby, I would get everything possible done while she was awake. I’d even pull the covers of my bed down, close the blinds and turn off the light, put the phone on silent, get a drink, undress and pee- all so that as soon as I set her in her crib for her nap that I could run to my room, shut the door and get only one minute less sleep than she.

• Some days we have to ask each other “Did Brady brush his teeth these past few days”?

• I am the Queen of hiding XMas presents- not before Christmas, but after they’ve been opened Christmas day. The very afternoon that all of the holiday or birthday presents have been opened- I secretly hide a stack of their gifts (Oh relax! They got enough gifts from grandparents to supply a preschool classroom!) The kids ask “Where’s my stuff”? To which I reply with a “What were you looking for?” “My STUFF?”
“Tell me specifically what you want and I will help look for it”. (If they could even tell me one thing they opened for which they were searching- I’d give it to them. But the fact that they cannot even recall the gifts they just opened tells me they got too much)! To the gift closet they go to be re-gifted come the next birthday party of a friend.

• In an effort to clean out- I promised my daughter that if she could weed out her toys before Christmas that, for each item she got rid of- Santa would bring her a new one. It totally backfired and she got rid of 58 toys! Presents are like crack to kids. Doesn’t matter if they are crappy cereal box toys or expensive Pottery Barn kitchen sets. They mainline it and OD at the holidays.

• Sometimes the Tooth Fairy borrows money from my kids’ piggy bank (or has forgotten to leave money entirely).

• I used to turn on the shower to mask the sounds of me pooping when we were dating (but we’re married now).

• I wish there were an electronic sign on the back of my car onto which I could type what I was thinking for the driver behind me to read. It could be as simple as “your lights are not on” to “stop texting and driving A-Hole”!

• My lipstick now settles in the creases above my lips, like my mother’s.

• I spend the 6’oclock hour watching the clock and waiting for bedtime.

• I’ve been known to eat a fallen bit of food off the floor when no one is looking.

• I have an unsubstantiated fear that, in the presence of someone who stutters, that I too will begin to stutter.

• I would have paid someone to potty train my kids or to teach them to ride a bike.

• I refuse to make friends with any mom who sells Making Memories, Avon, Pampered Chef, Yankee candles, Discovery toys or Silpada. The friendship is going to lead me to BK.

• I’ve taken my sick child to school because I had a much overdue mani/ pedi appt.

• My daughter knows the words to Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream (though she mistakes the bad words for something innocent and I don’t correct her- just as my mom let me believe “Billy Jean is at my door” was what Michael Jackson crooned).

• Getting my kids to eat vegetables is impossible, akin to trying to fold a fitted sheet. So I stopped trying.

• I re-gift- but live in fear that I am going to re-gift that item to the same person who gave it to ME!

• I lie to my children by telling them that “McDonald’s is closed today”.

• In any public restroom or changing room, I am convinced I am being videotaped, so I make sure to smile.

• I used to hear my mother coming down the hall by the pop and crack of her knees and ankles. Now, I myself can no longer “sneak” anywhere thanks to the orchestra of my own limbs.

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3 thoughts on “Confessions of a bad mom

  1. Wow, pretty long confession list of truths from a great mom who is professing to be bad. there was one thing that i thought was especially nostalgic. it was when you said, “I would have paid someone to potty train my kids or to teach them to ride a bike.” as the eldest Kimball boy (holds true for the eldest in any family), you would have thought that my parents would have been the ones to instruct me in a lot of things. they had an interesting take on motivation techniques and relied all to frequently on ridicule. take bike riding for instance. i was still on a three-wheeler while my friends rode by on their bicycles. “oh for heaven’s sake Billy, look at your friends, they’re all riding two-wheelers. don’t you wish you could do that?” my answer was always a truthful, “nope.” i just didn’t want to have to subject myself to the taunts of learning in front of them and the physical pain of failure. heck, i knew i couldn’t do it so, even at this young age, this imagined truth carried the weight of fact. the incentive came one Fall day at a next door neighbor’s house when my playmate goaded me into trying his sister’s bike. i had a lot of failed attempts and 3′ and 4′ successes before this girl’s bike allowed me the incentive i needed. up and pedaling, i immediately steered into a cactus garden and had the motivation of natural acupuncture as the impetus that forced success.

    tricks on the swing set, bouncing on a pogo stick, kite flying, tree climbing and roller skating were things that i had to learn solely by failure – well, i do remember my father and mother each holding onto an arm as they skated their apparently epileptic son from one side of the game room to the other. i think they both realized that it was a lesson in futility and left me to my own devices. i learned on my own, with the help of neighborhood kids or through classes and instructors who my parents employed to guide their pathetic kid to a level equal to his peers. i remember that the traumatic process of learning to swim had to be spread over two successive summers in 3 sets of swim lessons. it didn’t matter whether the lessons were public or private, apparently i was functionally uneducable and fully satisfied to walk, bent at the waist, pretending to swim in the shallow end while wearing my bright orange kapok life jacket that i’m sure they felt branded their son a moron.

    i was praised when i would surprise them with my ability to do something, something for which they had given up all hope of ever seeing me do and then with a, “see, we told you that you could do it,” they’d take responsibility. this was the bane of being the eldest. being their first born seemed to also allow them to exclusively parrot the time honored excuse, “this was all new to us too.”

    the infuriating thing about being the first is that it now fell on my self-educated shoulders to take the reins when it came to my siblings. “Billy, show your brother how to jump rope… bounce on the pogo stick… make the yo-yo sleep….. shoot marbles or ride his bike.” it was my duty as the older brother to show them how. i was forever cautioned, “…and be patient with him, be kind, go slowly, stick with it, don’t get frustrated and teach him how to do it safely….” where the hell did they get these guidelines?

    oh, and the potty training…. i’m still working on it.

  2. Pingback: Monday Mom Confession: Brownies for Breakfast | BTDT Mama

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