One of THOSE Mothers

It is official, I have become one of THOSE mothers.

I let my child forget his library books because I don't want to keep track of them, library day, or due dates.

I even forbid some children to bring them home because we have too many books here anyway and the ones at school tend to be crummy and they lose the crummy ones and then we get a note politely suggesting we find the crummy book and since we can't find the crummy book, we give the school another dozen of ours off our shelves because they don't fit there anyway and are better than most of the crummy books at the school. But, by the way, we find the crummy book on the school library shelve that we dig through in search because in the floor to ceiling scouring of the home, car and van turns up nothing. (OK, that hasn't happened since Eldest was in Kindergarten, but Eldest and Princess still don't bring their books home.)

I let my child go to school without the correct folder because I'm tired of remembering twelve dozen things in the morning.

I let my child forget show and tell.

I might or might not supervise homework.

I will drag my feverish baby to the bank...which is in Target...because I HAVE to deposit money TODAY...and stay and pick up a few needed items also...since I'm there anyway.

I don't force my children to study their spelling words.

I might not even suggest it until Friday morning.

I buy prepackaged, unhealthy snacks for school because I'm tired of throwing away the prefectly good, healthy food that rotted in the bottom of the backpack that they can't eat because one of their friends makes fun if they ever pull out anything remotely healthy to eat...and I can't buy character or self-confidence.

I don't cook a hot breakfast.

I actually expect my kids to find their own breakfast. (I do provide the means.)

I don't tell them what to wear resulting in some crazy clothing combinations.

If my kids run out of socks and don't bother to warn me that their socks are almost out, I make them wear dirty socks...or my socks...or their sister's socks.

I take the baby to the store covered in the chocolate bar he snagged and I didn't take from him...because it keeps him quiet.

Three hours later, once I've wiped the chocolate from his face, his clothes still harbor evidence of his chocolate binge.

I don't scrub grass stains out of knees. They are only going to put new ones there tomorrow.

I let the boys wear holey socks. Because they are the ones that chose to run around in them outside all summer without shoes. Everyone gets a new pack of socks at Christmas and beginning of school. That they only have three socks between the two of them that aren't holey should not be my problem.

What else, what else, what else? I suppose that is enough of my failures for the day. I just tend towards the camp that prefers to have responsible kids and if they can't be bothered to care, I can't be bothered to care. I didn't know it would be quite this humiliating, nor that the school of hard knocks would be so slow to "take." I do know that on the judgmental scale, I've slidden (I've slidden, there's one for the grammar books) down a rung or two. I know that has to be a good thing. But my days of scrounging all over for lost library books and taking extra trips to school for insane irresponsibility are over. (Barring the lunch left at home of field trip day--no teacher deserves that.)

I do want the best for my kids, but is doing everything for them helping them or hurting them? And if I'm too tired to fall asleep anymore, something's gotta give.

Even if I look like one of THOSE mothers.

However, I do take my kids to the park, read to them, and keep their clothes clean, if not stain free. I feed them (or provide the means) three meals a day most of which we eat together. I love them madly. They just might not look like I do.

I guess that's what pains me most.