Ramifications of being an imperfect mom

If you came to my house on any weekday afternoon between the hours of 4-6pm, chances are good you might hear me before you see me. I tend to get a little stressed when four of us are doing homework and we need to get five instruments practiced and dinner on the table. “Sit your butt at the table and do your math,” “Why aren’t you reading?,” “No, I will not get you another cup of juice,” and “Well play it one more time, dangit,” are all things that I think I just this afternoon, and I can guarantee that my voice was not sweet and there was no smile on my face.

I figure that when the kids grow up and we get together for holidays, they might laugh and complain about what a wenchy mom I was when they were growing up. They’ll probably mimic my voice and flare their nostrils and give each other the evil eye in imitation of me.

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