I used to be a good mother

I usually try very hard not to talk negatively about my children here for several reasons. First, I love them. They are wonderful, precious children. So on those days when they are driving me crazy, I have to remember that my blog only gives you a small glimpse into my life, and I don't want that glimpse to tell you that my children are horrid creatures that will need therapy and/or boot camp someday. Second, I do have some pride. I don't want you to think that I am crazy or a bad mom. Although sometimes I am either/both of those things.

But today I have decided to be vulnerable. Sometimes I feel like a lousy mom. Now, you need to know that my own mother repeatedly tells me that I am an amazing mother. (In fact, I am sure that she is dialing the phone right now to tell me this.) But as my mom, it is her sacred duty to build me up rather than tear me down, so I don't always believe her. (Put the phone down, Mom!)

Sometimes I have to ask myself, where did I go wrong? I firmly believe that it began with potty training. I always thought that I was a good mom until I attempted to potty train my Benjamin. He was always such a sweet boy. He didn't go through the terrible two's like other children. He obeyed his mommy, gave out tons of hugs and kisses, and was smart as a tack. His infant brother William was also the picture of perfection. He was a very happy baby. Even when he broke his arm and had 2nd degree burns (long story), he hardly ever complained. So, I figured I must be a wonderful mother, right? My perfect children charmed everyone they met, and then those people told me what a wonderful mother I was, so it must be true, right?

Then, we started potty training. That is really where everything changed. Let's just start with the fact that I had no idea what I was doing. I thought my natural parenting skills were just going to lead the way, and Ben would just learn by absorbing my positive attitude. I also got it into my head that it would only take a day or two. (I blame Dr. Phil for that one.) Anyway, short story long, it took much longer than it should have. And from that experience, Ben made a very important discovery. Benjamin discovered that he could actually disobey mommy. Mommy said, "Time to go potty." He said, "Ummm, no. I would rather pee right here." A new monster was born. And then he taught his brother, who took this new discovery to the next level. The boys are now in the process of teaching Kate how to disobey too. Thankfully I can still get her attention with a firm, "Kate."

Now, I don't think that my children are any more monstrous or horrid than the average kids. There is no such thing as perfect kids. But I have to say, that sometimes they drive me insane. (See, maybe I have good reason to be crazy...) For example, why is it that they eat as if they learned their table manners from Cookie Monster? Why must they pick their noses in public, and then eat their discoveries? Why do they use their shirts as napkins? And why, oh why, do I have to say their full names 3 times to get their attention?

But of all of these things, the thing that drives me over the edge is dinner time behavior. I have heard other mothers refer to the hour between 6 and 7 pm as the "witching hour", and I have to nod my head at that one. It's like they are other people. And I'm not just talking bad manners (BTW, their manners are atrocious - see above). I am talking about the hitting and kicking and pinching. I am talking about the crying if the food isn't exactly what they want. I am talking about hanging upside down in their chair, and then falling out of the chair.

My family tells me it is all MY fault. They say that this is pretty much how I behaved at dinner time. Plus I spilled my milk. Every meal. (No comments, Nan.)

I'm not admitting to anything. At least not in writing.