WONDEROAK

Sometimes when I don’t know someone and I see them wearing makeup, I kind of assume that they are also good at everything else, like cooking and having a clean bathroom for example.  Their children probably worship them while arguing over who gets to fold the laundry and take out the trash. So, incase you’ve seen me wear makeup, I want to set the record straight.

I am not a Super-Mom, and these are my confessions:

***

I love screens and I love screen time. Possibly more than my children love them. If Netflix or Amazon Prime were people I would want to marry them. I hide this love, just like I hide my love for those tacos from Taco Bell with the cheesy Dorito flavored shells on them, or how I binge watched Sister Wives that one time. There’s some things you just don’t share.

I usually engage in conversations about the impending doom caused by iPads with a solemn head shake, but my inside voice says, Girl, you’re good, Wild Kratts is educational.

As long as my kids got outside for a while I welcome screen time like I would welcome any babysitter offering their services for free.

I hardly ever know what I’m doing. If my life were a tag line it would be, “wingin’ it”. When my kid acts up in public, I usually say something very parental like, “If you keep doing that…there will be…disciplinary…measures…that…take…place…”. That is because there is a 100% chance that I have no idea what I’m going to do, but I find that using big words confuses the opposition…I mean kids.

Since Tuesday we’ve been trying pushups and crunches as consequences. So far I don’t notice a dent in the bickering problem, but all of them are becoming very toned.

I am queen of the overreaction, especially to “danger”. Recently we traveled by train as a family. I have very little train experience and when we were attempting to get on I thought the doors were closing before we were all inside. I panicked and my eight year old claims that I lifted him off the ground with two fingers (whereby he “lost half of his nipple due to my long nails”) and “threw” him and his sister on to the train. I do not remember this, but I do remember yelling explicits, which I’m sure was delightful for spectators.

*I have examined the nipple in question and everything appears intact. Also we made it onto the train, so…go me?

I am not calm, or cool, or collected. I read some awesome parenting advice about being relaxed and not letting the kids push my buttons.

This is not going very well for me.

It turns out that my genetic makeup is made almost entirely of buttons; also I am hardly ever relaxed, unless we’re talking about when I clean the shower (never). I’m hoping that hiding in the shoe closet to pull myself together and apologizing a lot are also good parenting strategies.

I wrote this piece for Today Parents, you can read the rest here!