That’s me. Spent. Despite my writer and photographer aspirations, my day job is mommy-at-home. For some of you, this might conjure images of June Cleaver or, possibly, your own mother. Well, I more closely resemble Roseanne Barr (in the TV show). I’m not that wide, but if I keep managing my stress with chips and salsa and gin & tonic, I might be there a year from now.

I have lost all ability to keep a house organized or plan meals. I am impatient and cranky and my kids are happy to tell you so.

The other day I took my kids to the dentist, the pediatric kind with bright colored patient chairs and funky sunglasses and ten flavors of toothpaste. Toward the end of our back-to-back appointments, my children were getting rowdy. I tried so hard to keep a calm voice and not look like the tyrant I am. And it must have worked because the dentist and her assistant marveled at my calm demeanor and parenting skills.

“Kids,” I said to them. “Is Mommy good at using a calm voice?”

Altogether now… “Noooooooo.” Their heads moved back and forth, but their bodies kept playing.  The fact they confirmed was not worth pause.

If you wonder why I fessed up, it is because the false sense of perfect parenting does a favor to no one. So to all you other parents out there who feel less than perfect, stop by my blog. I’ll give you reason to feel superior.