I screw up.
And I have no problem with airing my failings because there's nothing I detest more than those women who act like they burp rainbows and poop hearts.
You know the ones I'm talking about.
And you know that you want to punch them in the face every now and then, usually when you haven't had your coffee yet and your 4-year old was up every three hours because he's convinced there are bugs in his room, so convinced in fact that you spend 10 minutes watching for bugs at 2:30 in the morning until he tells you that they only come out when grown ups aren't watching.
So on those mornings, you just want to punch these women in the face.
The rest of the time, you just sort of look at them and scratch your head. Clearly they got some sort of Mommy handbook at the hospital that you didn't.
Or they have access to some really awesome happy pills.
Either way, that's not me. I try hard, really hard. But I have, on occasion, let my sons watch marathons of Phineas and Ferb so I can play a little game I like to call Bash the Exes with my BFF (much more fun than Chutes and Ladders, btw). I have used M&Ms to bribe my child to use the toilet (which we all know is exactly why M&Ms were invented), used ice-cream to bribe them to be good in the store, and Munchkins to bribe them to do almost anything else (everyone wins where Munchkins are involved; the kids do what I ask, they get their donuts, and I have an excuse to get a coffee).
I may, on occassion, even raise my voice. And yell.
Lucky for me, my sons didn't receive a handout at the hospital either (no "What to Expect From Your Parents"). So I still get wet, slobbery kisses at night. When they are afraid or unsure, it's still me that they run to. When they are sick, it's my lap they want to snuggle on.
And when there is a bug in their room in middle of the night, it is me they call to squish it.