So, I’m an OK mother—Cranky, Whiny and Punch seem to be surviving. Honestly, were I grading my parenting, I would give myself a B, which is weird because I always have been an A student.
But when it comes to parenting, I do tons of things wrong navigating these waters: I let them have whatever they want at Schnucks to avoid a scene, I bribe them, I lie. I mean, not the Santa stuff, I really, really lie—You know that kid who lives behind us? He drank and drove, and now he is dead. Yeah, that kind of lying. So something that Punch said yesterday called for a little bit of navel-gazing. He said, Mom, you know you never get mad?
Well I have never been so insulted. I get mad—super mad. I am insulted, and that makes me furious. Then I thought about it: What makes me mad? Bear in mind I will have a teenage driver in six months, so the list is going to change. Oh, and trust me, this is petty, petty stuff. I mean, I hate natural disasters and plane crashes, but on a day-to-day basis, here are things that make me mad:
I am mad that Channing Tatum has a film career.
I hate the word 'ointment.'
I hate cell-phone chargers. No, I actually like them; I just wish we didn’t need them.
I am mad that people think Robin Williams shines in dramatic roles.
I hate The Neighbors—not my neighbors, the TV show.
So there. I can get mad—really mad. Fortunately, Cranky, Whiny and Punch are not the source of my rage just yet…yet. I will keep you posted.