Welcome to “The Bad Mommy Diaries”! Yes, you read that right. Bad Mommy. Why good heavens, you may be thinking. Why ever would someone think they’re a bad mommy?

Well, honey, I’m not just talking about me here. I am talking about you, too. For starters, we’re mean. My kids think I’m mean, your kids think you’re mean and if we’re honest with ourselves, we know we’re mean. Because any mother who’s worth a damn is mean. For crying out loud, how could we not be mean?

We’re trying to juggle kids’ activities and school work, our own jobs, extended family, peeing in private, remembering to take our clothes off when we get in the shower, remembering to unplug the curling iron and not burn down the house etc., etc.

Some of us are even lucky enough to have a largish kid who left home before his mother finished raising him, so now we’re dealing with an extra, man sized child who other than for the fact he can drive, is actually more useless than the underage children in the house. A few of us are fortunate enough to actually have friends who haven’t been completely alienated in our trek down Motherhood Lane and understand why we can’t speak in coherent sentences. Occasionally they are helpful, but they also add to the stress of things we commit to and can’t fulfill. Like actually keeping in touch with them.

Who can really blame us for wearing a scowl and snapping at anyone who has the nerve to speak to us?

Okay, so maybe I am meaner than most. And I have absolutely zero patience. I say things like “shut up”, “leave me the hell alone” and “mommy doesn’t want to play with you, that’s why.” When my kids ask me what I’m eating while I’m shoveling their Halloween candy in my mouth, I tell them “poison” because I sure as hell don’t want to share. Some days, I even count the hours until their bedtime.

If you’re appalled and clutching your chest at this point, this blog is not for you. This is not a warm and fuzzy blog where we all hold hands and sing. I’m blunt. I tell it like it is. I highly doubt there is one mother alive who hasn’t considered these thoughts or telling off their kid at least once. And if you haven’t, God bless you. You must be on some pretty strong meds.

I personally feel I say something sarcastic, scathing or mean at least daily to one of my children, if not both. It’s just another service I offer in addition to doing their laundry, driving them around like the world’s cheapest taxi and burning their dinners. They need to know it ain’t all roses.

I’m not that mom that says “great job junior” when you suck. I say “try again, you can do better”. Life isn’t participation trophies. Kids need to learn that they have flaws. Because if you don’t know you have them, however could you work on fixing them? I’m pretty sure they will lay on their therapists’ couch one day and thank me for my honesty.

Anyway, about my little darlings….you really didn’t think you could escape a mommy blog without hearing about them, did you? Well, you’re in luck because I won’t bore you with their achievements and endearing qualities. Not that they don’t have them…they certainly do, which makes poking a little fun a tad bit easier. I mean, if they really were bumbling idiots I would feel sorry for them and never, ever laugh at them. They’re pretty bright about most things, but they still continue to do the things that irk the crap outta me.

My eleven year old son would probably be mortified if he knew I was writing a blog and he was in it. Pretty much anything I do lately is mortifying for my little OCD extraordinaire. I’m not sure why he’s so anal retentive and nervous about things, but I’m sure somehow it’s my fault. My bad mommy gene again. But, I think when it was just him, I pretty much had it together. I was mean, but not too mean. I don’t care what people say about only children. It is soooooo much easier with one. Add a second or third in the mix and all of a sudden you’ve got a whole new set of problems.

Like the fact, my kids despise each other. Not in the cutie sibling rivalry sort of way. In the, “I’m going to tackle you to the ground and punch you in your frigging head because you said South Dakota” kind of way. And both of them are equally guilty. I think they both keep lists of the things that piss the other off the most and then pull out all the stops on days when we are pressed for time or I’ve had a crap day. In this way, they kill two birds with one stone. Tick the other off and drive me to drink at the same time.

My seven year old daughter has two purposes in life. To look really adorable and sweet and to drive everyone else in the house so crazy that we all commit ourselves and sign the house over to her. That way she can eat candy for breakfast and run around in a tutu and tiara all the time talking to her teddy bears and bunnies. She started with me and she is now moving in on her brother and father. It took her almost eight years to get me to this point; she’s broken down her father and brother in a much shorter time frame. Well, they’re men, so what can we expect?

Don’t get me wrong. I do love them to pieces and even that man child they call daddy. For the most part, I know I’m doing a decent job but of course, there’s that tiny part of me that is convinced, like all of you, that I am the worst mommy on the planet. And for those moments, I get to have some fun with this blog. Join me next time when I tell you why Mother’s Day is the stupidest holiday ever invented.