Recently we watched “Bad Moms”. This isn’t a movie in which you’re going to nod in agreement, snicker and smile. It’s a raunchy comedy and loaded with profanity. Consider yourself warned.

This movie had me thinking of times when I might have been perceived as a “bad mom”.

Cleanliness:

• My boys were trained to drink out of a cup in the tub. Food that potentially stained was also eaten in the tub. I say, “Better safe than very, very sorry.”
• My oldest was taught to ask if my work clothes were “Dry Clean Only” before I accepted a hug. I wonder if that’s why he idolized Martha Stewart?

• It was when Bryce threw up his vegetable soup on the living room rug (like a possessed Linda Blair), that I stopped offering cherry Jello, Kool-Aid or popsicles (again, stains). I wanted to avoid doing laundry or — shudder —clean the rug.
• Then there was the time a poo-splosion occurred at dinner. We carried the baby, high chair and all, to the backyard and hosed them both down. Don’t judge. It was summer.
• When on a visit to the pediatrician, I was mortified when the doc asked my youngest “What’s new?” Stuart, forever challenging himself, proudly stated he hadn’t showered in 13 days. I guess moms are supposed to monitor their children’s hygiene???

• I wasn’t the only one with OCD. Before he could even speak, Bryce insisted on a clean sheet every, single night.  Exasperated, I just folded the sheets without laundering and put them in the drawer ready for the next night of his shenanigans.
• Once, after a full day of sweaty gardening, Stuart reminded me he was carrying a banner in a procession at the Cathedral. Since there wasn’t a lot of runway time here, we had a baby wipe shower and his on-the-verge-of-death shoes were polished with Lemon Pledge.  All before a thing called “Pinterest”. I amaze myself.

Manners, courtesy and respect:

• Running late to our ceramics class, I made them politely listen to a homeless man advising us not to play on the nearby railroad tracks “because we could break our ankles”.

• I invited a Native American man to dinner, who happened to be a total stranger, just so the boys could experience diversity.
• On a trip to a pawnshop, the somewhat seedy-looking clerk spoke about his PTSD due to serving in “Nam”. He said, “You’re lucky I’m wearing pants.” He laughed and laughed as Stuart tried to stop the choked cry in his throat.

Food is love:

• I will forever be known as the one who left a broken fingernail in the sauerkraut. In my defense, I did look for it. Bryce found it. Cue dramatic music.
• I took Bryce to see Schindler’s List thinking it was appropriate for a 9-year-old. I didn’t realize it was a 3-hour-plus commitment on a school night. We ate Rally’s Famous Seasoned Fries in the car for our 10:30 pm dinner. At least he was fed. Sometimes, for days, his Aunt Sandy would forget to feed her children altogether. She was embarrassed once when, in front of Aunt Dorothy, they whined “can we have something other than a bag of chips for dinner today?” Ice cream was also a go-to meal.

• I occasionally used Skull and Crossbones stickers to keep the boys from eating my stashed goodies.
• When they did eat my secret snacks, I threatened to have the police fingerprint the food.

For my own amusement:

• I read my books aloud while they bathed. Stephen King must have been quite frightening because Bryce still doesn’t read much.

• Apparently I served my favorite cake at my sons’ birthdays. Even I’ll admit that’s not right.
• While shopping, I sometimes made the boys beg (in public) when they wanted me to buy them something. Tamagotchi flashback.
• I forced naps so I could watch the O.J. Simpson trial. Every mom needs “me” time, right?
• At middle school D.A.R.E. meetings, I would daydream about a cocktail and cigarette.
• I expected coffee to be made before they woke me up on school/church mornings.

Miscellaneous Lessons:

The value of a dollar: I was known to borrow cash from their piggy banks and then forget to repay the loan.

Driving: I allowed Grandma to teach Bryce to drive. “Yellow means go faster”.

Work ethics: Bryce painted our fence and was paid $1 per 10-foot section. He made a cool $30 that summer.

Responsibility: Sleeping on your wet beach towel when you forget your sleeping bag on a camping trip.

Independence: Stuart’s Academic Team thought he was an orphan. Hey! You have to tell me when you need a ride!

It didn’t end once they were grown. A text message came through as I was packing my car after a visit with Stuart and his fiancée, Elizabeth. “Please don’t leave without saying goodbye”, it said. Perplexed, I asked why he would say something like that. He said, “It’s not outside the realm of possibilities”.  Apparently I get distracted to the point of forgetting my children.

I’m not the only one who sometimes sucked at motherhood.

My sister, Sandy, planned fun activities for her children while on summer break. Enter Kool-Aid hair coloring. Her son, Trey, trying to dye just the front of his hair, tipped back the glass of purple elixir onto his forehead and watched TV for who knows how long. It took weeks for that huge purple dot to fade.

Cindy made a tidy profit reselling Beanie Babies. Once, before school, she took her daughter, Sarah, in her parochial school uniform, to rendezvous in a dark parking lot with a trucker delivering newly released Beanie Babies. When the trucker wouldn’t accept a check, Cindy left her daughter with him while she searched out an ATM!

Now that Cindy’s a grandmother, things haven’t changed much. Her grandson, Zane, calls Bud Light, “Mimi Juice”.

Then there’s Ann. One school morning, her son, Matt, complained of a stomachache. For almost a week, she thought he was faking and sent him to school. Finally his father took him to the doctor. Diagnosis? Appendicitis! (I don’t remember any near-death experiences with my children).

My friend, Joyce, left her daughter, Jennifer, at a bus stop — yeah, you read that right.

You now probably think I’m a monster. But know that I didn’t drink “Mimi Juice” or take what the Rolling Stones called “Mother’s Little Helpers”. Whatever the methods, the result was two young men who are smart, dependable, hard working, funny and kind. I can’t take all the credit, though. Bryce insists he raised himself and then raised Stuart.

So, my parenting sisters, will you share your bad mom moments?