It seems like every time I log onto social media, I find at least one post/blog about parenthood. Many of them paint a picture of perfection that can be attained by following their handy dandy click-bait slides. Others are a dissertation on the author’s own winning parenting style. While there are a few that encourage the reader to refrain from judging their own parenting by the yardsticks of others, they are fairly small in number.
It’s so easy to walk away from a social media session feeling hypercritical of oneself. Parenting is hard, but everyone on the interwebz seems to know what they’re doing.
Instead of feeding into the current “picture perfect” social media worthy parenting post, I’m going to make an admission. I’ve made some questionable moves in my years of parenting. Many of them are fairly cringe worthy, but others are just funny. So here it goes, my confession: I’m a Bad Mom.
- I told my kids the ice cream truck only plays music when it’s out of ice cream.
- If the kid that lovingly places a tooth under her pillow has to come down the stairs the next morning and ask you for her dollar, you might be the Worst Tooth Fairy Ever.
- My kids only made it to about the age of 4 believing in Santa Claus. They asked me if the hubby and I were in fact the bringer of Christmas presents, and I answered yes. (Which was great because I only have like 2 pictures of them with the big guy in the red suit. #LackOfPhotosJustified)
- My oldest child has a partially filled out baby book. The youngest, well…Guess it’s a good thing we only have two kids.
- I don’t have school pictures from every year of my kids’ existence. (For this I must apologize to the grandparents. I promise I haven’t been hoarding them. I just don’t have them.)
- When they were young, I would kick them outside when they annoyed me, not even bothering to use the need for fresh air as an excuse. They were annoying and I often told them as much.
- I didn’t do their “Star of the Week” posters. I barely supervised so theirs were always the ugliest.
- I forgot to order their yearbooks one year. Oops.
- I didn’t let them do more than one activity at a time so as to maximize their athletic/artistic/etc. availability. I was too lazy to schlep them all over tarnation every day.
- I let them decide how to fix their hair. Even when the boy wanted to grow his hair really long, making him easily confused with a girl. I rolled with it.
- I know they live in messy rooms, but I’m too lazy to walk up the stairs to make them keep them clean.
- I refused to act as referee. “Don’t bother me unless there’s imminent blood/ threat of serious bodily injury.”
- I often don’t know where they are. In the play outside years it was be home for supper & now it’s be home by curfew.
- I sometimes use colorful language. Admittedly, this started when they were older, but my 6th grader did get in trouble for using the phrase “half-assed” in an essay. Sadly, he didn’t learn that one on the playground, he learned it while doing chores.
- I tell them to go away and leave me alone.
- I have ruined big Christmas presents by accidentally blurting them out. No one was surprised the year Santa (you know, me) put a Wii for the family under the tree.
- I missed lots of performances and games. Sometimes because it was impossible to be there, other times because I just didn’t want to go.
- Both of my kids have done multiple school projects on the efficacy of medicinal marijuana.
- I actually said everything in the Power Point. (If you’re a frequent reader, you’ve read a few of them. If you’re new to my dysfunctional rodeo, you can check out my archives.)
- I’m looking forward to being an empty nester. Less laundry, less cooking, less hassle, more time to read.
I could go on and on, but I’ll stop there for now. I hear the Wine Walk calling. And kids, if you’re reading this, please remember – all therapy bills go to your grandparents.