This morning I was catching up on the overnight Twitter feeds while I made my coffee, when I came across this one from Bust Magazine, linking to a message about STFU, Parents!

I was wishing I was wearing panties with my pajamas, as I felt the need to bunch them. Read this for any legnth of time and you’ll know that I really, really hate the whole idea of “Mommy Wars”, and the us vs. them mentality that often exists between women with kids and without. I’m all about cutting out the snarking and in-fighting because regardless of what you’re doing, life is difficult enough without fighting about who’s the biggest martyr. Yeah, it’s hard to empathize with a parent if you haven’t been one. Likewise, it can be hard to understand that just because someone doesn’t have a little maniac in her life that it’s not always sunshine and vodka-spiked grape ice lollies. Shit is rough all around.

That said, the website’s one of the funniest damn things I’ve read in a long time. It’s links and snips of Facebook status reports of parents – mostly moms – being unintentional jackasses.

I’m sure I’ve done plenty of shit that would land me a featured spot on the blog. The fact that I have the word “mom” in my blog title might be enough to get me there. But I doubt it, because really, the blogger’s pretty damn fair about it all.

I want to be outraged when I read slagging on moms who are sick of kids TV. But I can’t be that outraged because 1) I say the exact same thing as the last person (because really? Dora isn’t meant for people over the age of 6. If you don’t like it, applaud yourself for being more intelligent than your toddler,) and 2) you’re bitching instead of turning off the damn TV and actually, I don’t know doing something with your kid.

And the Mommyjacking. Oh, I know I’ve done this one. Granted, I can’t Mommyjack other moms because I only have one kid. I can only Mommyjack people who don’t have kids, which might be even more stupid than doing it to other moms. However, having only one kid gives me a good come-back to Mommyjackers: “Yep, that’s why I stopped at one.”

I’m also not above telling people I stopped at one because I got it right the first time, but only in severe cases of mommy matyrdom. Which would probably land me on the blog.

Or the grocery store one. I really wanted to get pissed off at this one, having been distracted by my own burgeoning young grocery store criminal a few months ago. But the part of me that recently talked down a grocery store crazy lady empathizes. Although I’m pretty sure my grocery store crazy lady I dealt with probably wasn’t loved by her mother. I tried to be gentle with her, just for that purpose. That, and I was afraid that if I went with my inclination to beat her with the plastic order divider, she might shoot me.

The timing of finding this blog today couldn’t be more perfect, what with yesterday being Pulaski Day.

What’s Pulaski Day? It’s the day in March in which Illinois shuts down to celebrate a guy who lived in Pennsylvania before Illinois was even a state. I refer to it as Illinois Parent Sanity Eradication Day because shit, how many days out of school do these kids need? They were out two weeks ago for President’s Day. A month before that for MLK Day. In three weeks we have a week of early dismissals, followed by a week of spring break. And there’s always a spattering of snow days in the mix.

Some of us parents have fucking jobs, y’know.

I hate to begrudge time I get to spend with Clara Jane, though. But damn if Pulaski Day doesn’t feel like overload by this time of year. We had a fun day, though. Storytime at the bookstore. Lunch at one of her favorite restaurants. Pottery-painting. A snack, followed by a little shopping. By the end we were both exhausted but happy.

Granted, I accidentally took a two-hour nap on the couch after dinner, which led to taking care of work stuff until after midnight. Then I couldn’t sleep because of the nap, and thinking about the work I hadn’t finished. I wound up falling asleep on the couch with Adult Swim on in the background, which meant waking up to a seizure-inducing Japanese action cartoon around 5 a.m.. Snoozed another 90 minutes, got the cranky kid to school, came home, and worked.

Yeah, I’m tired. But I’m not going to bitch. Why? Because this is the life I’ve chosen. I chose to have a kid. I’ve chosen a job that doesn’t have clear-cut hours. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if it does leave me tired, frustrated, or down-right furious at times.

Pretty sure all of us wind up tired, frustrated, or down-right furious because of things that happen because of our life choices, no matter how much we love them.

Anyway, I’m off-track. Yesterday. Pulaski Day. The parents and kiddos were out en masse, especially at storytime. It’s geared more for kids who haven’t started school yet, what with being during the morning and all. Clara Jane’s been going to storytime her entire life, so it’s something she still likes to revisit when she gets the chance.

It’s been awhile since we’ve gone to storytime. Long enough that I think I’ve been out of the toddler loop.

Long enough to make me want to slap everyone.

Holy shit. I know I pontificated for hours about breast feeding issues. Now, six years later, I wish to God someone had slapped me.

I’m sure it’s a survival instinct, this manic mothering we do in the first years, being hyper-focused on poop and Dora and all that shit.

Know what? I don’t miss it. Not one little bit.

I love having a kid who’s independent and capable of thinking for herself (even though it makes my days more challenging because she’s not a lemming). I love having a kid who’s of the age where we can go out, do fun things, and enjoy them together. Of course, if she steps out of line, I’m on it (see burgeoning young criminal incident). But those times are becoming fewer.

To the moms who were so dismayed at how many people have to *gasp* suppliment their breast milk, let me tell you something. That little girl who’s asking where she might find the Shel Silverstein books because she’d like to read some poems from “The Missing Piece”? She’s barely six years old and the product of a breast milk-formual combo, so just suck on that and lighten up.

Yeah, I’m sure people told me that six years ago. And I’m pretty sure I lost my shit when they did.

One mom in the group stood out in particular, because she also had a six-year-old daughter out of school for the day. She kept asking her mom to listen to her while she read a Dr. Seuss book. On her own! That’s pretty awesome for six. Mom kept ignoring her, shooing her away to read by herself.

Meanwhile, the mom’s other child, a girl who was maybe a bit over a year old, I don’t know, toddled to a rack of Disney toys. The mom stopped the conversation and instructed the other moms to watch because her littlest one can name all of the princesses!

While the kid unloaded toys onto the floor, babbling words that her mom translated into princess names, her older kid read to herself. I tried to encourage Clara Jane to come read with her because holy shit, someone please encourage the kid who’s reading, not the one who’s a princess savant. Clara Jane wasn’t having it, as she was busy at the train table with a pair of boys.

Yeah, we all do the best we can with our kids. Sometimes our best sucks and merits mockery.