I do it all. F*ck yeah, I swear. I tell white lies as needed. I covet Tory Burch handbags. And, in a new devilish development, I am now living in sin with the guy I met through HuffPost. I don’t feel guilty about these infractions. The sins that keep me up at night, the ones I truly want to atone for during the High Holidays, are those of the mommyhood variety.
Here are 7 Sins I Commit in the Name of Motherhood:
1. I bribe. Pre-mommyhood, I scoffed at parents who pacified their children with cake at a restaurant. I would stare in disbelief at their kids’ content, chocolate smeared faces as the waiter cleared their plates piled high with uneaten healthy food. I get it now. Sometimes I am beyond desperate to get my five-year-old to eat/be quiet/stop acting like the kid equivalent of drunk and disorderly. Two more bites and you can eat (gloriously soothing) cake. Two more bites and you can use my iPhone. Two more bites and we’re going to Disney World!
2. I cave. I am uncomfortable in mean mommy mode. The defiance, the back talk, the selective listening, and the whining all grate on my already frayed nerves. I can be a badass in the moment — “Your bike, television privileges, and Kindle are all gone!” [Insert evil mommy laugh here] — but I don’t always keep my word. Hell, as chronically overtired as I am, I often forget my word. My son is my kryptonite.
3. I don’t always practice what I preach. “No running in the house!” If I lost a pound every time I yelled that phrase at my boisterous boy, I would be a rail-like Kendall Jenner. At times a total hypocrite, I recently joined in on a harrowing house chase. Zany, crazy mom took over as I ran lap after lap after a boy in hysterics. It was all fun and games until I whacked my pinky toe on the dining room chair. It is so swollen that I can’t squeeze it into shoes. The weather is finally cooperating (there’s nothing more frustrating than waiting to slide into new fall shoes), and now I am Bigfoot.
4. I need to be censored. If G-d can really hear my innermost thoughts, I am screwed. Straight to hell. Buh-bye. My internal dialogue is downright fresh most of the time. I can have a fake smile plastered on my face as I tie my son’s sneakers for the fifth time in five minutes, but in my mind, woah, it’s on, baby. I am an impatient smart a$s. A few choice words may or may not slip out at times, too.
5. I can be immature. I swear I can get right back into elementary school and represent if need be. I make ugly faces with the best of ’em. Sometimes I forget that I am the adult, that I am the one in charge. Keep that in mind if you see me stick my tongue out in retaliation or roll my eyes in exasperation.
6. I dread homework. There’s no doubt I will look like a chump trying to learn Common Core alongside my child, especially with my attitude. I squeaked through math in high school and college and have absolutely no desire to re-learn a subject I despised. Wine. Stat. Oh, and let’s collectively pray I can keep up with my Kindergartner intellectually.
7. I spoil. I wish I could say that I haven’t made questionable purchases following bad behavior. I wish I could say that begging and pleading (and begging and pleading) didn’t work on me. I wish I could say my son earns everything. I wish I could say Donald Trump will disappear. But I can’t. I just can’t. Please forgive me.
Which parenting sins would you add to the list?