I want my...I want my...I want my kids' TV

I don't have to worry about my kids watching too much TV anymore. Because they don't watch it!

It's been forever since I had to listen to Girl Meets World or Teen Titans! I didnt even have to ground them.

I have total control over the remote. I can watch as much Law and Order as I want!!

You may think I'm mom of the YEAR or that my kids have had some sort of spiritual transformation, but sadly that's not the case.

This TV watching shortage in my house is the direct result of YouTube. There's Stampycat, who walks around a fake blocky world talking in an annoying falsetto. There's DisneyCar  toys, which open packs of Shopkins and Baby Alive dolls and have some sort of soap opera going on with Elsa and Anna dolls. Every Justin Bieber and Megan Trainor song has a corresponding video.

And then every child on Abby Lee's dance team has 62 videos on how to put on makeup or the latest gross sounds they can make.

I never thought I would say this, but I kind of miss Dora the Explorer asking me which way to go a thousand times.

10 items of randomness for my 100th post

Whoo-hoo!!!

It's my 100th post! Can you believe that 100 blog-worthy things have happened to me? (okay, I'll be honest- probably only 47 blog-worthy things have happened...the remaining 53 are not very good).

So, in honor of my 100th post of nothing, I decided to compose 100 short stories about things that have happened to me lately...

And then I got realistic....and decided to post ten.

Here goes:

1. Story keeps wanting strange foods for breakfast...this morning it was mozzarella and oranges. Yesterday she wanted bananas and a hot dog. At least she's not mixing them up.

2. Abby (my dog) needs shaved. Badly. Every time I let her in the house, a steady trail of hair flows behind her, kind of like Pig Pen and his dirt from Charlie Brown. If she lays down on the rug, when she gets up, it looks like she's left little puppies all over the carpet. I have swept more the past week than I have in a year.

3. I did Zumba for the first time the other day....in addition to finding out that I still have the coordination of an adolescent, I also realized that I can't seem to move my hips...at all. Oh well, at least I didn't fall.....

4. Ivy's doing this annoying thing where she laughs all the time, even when she's in trouble. I'm not sure how to handle this, but it infuriates me!!! I find myself saying all those cliches my mom used to say to me....funny how that keeps happening.

5. I painted my fingernails hot pink for a wedding last weekend. And then I put on a red dress. (If there's a man reading this who's thinking, "What's wrong with that?"....that's tacky!!) Then I stole some sea shells from the reception for my hermit crabs...and got caught doing it by a groomsman.

6. Story's starting to get in to a good sleep routine again, but Ivy is being very resistant to going to sleep anytime before midnight...which is weird because it's usually the other way around! Methinks we need some Benadryl assistance.....

7. I should really clean the house...but I'm not too excited about doing that because in 4 hours, I'll just need to sweep it again. Why bother when the improvement is short-lived I say?

8. Story and I have had some interesting conversations lately as her vocabulary has improved and she's become more talkative. Too bad I still can't understand anything she says.

9. I'm trying to teach Ivy to give herself a shower...and it's hard! What makes it worse is she has no desire to do it herself either. I mean, I guess if someone offered to bathe me everyday, I'd probably let them, so I see her point, but, wow, it would be so much easier if I could say, "Ivy go take a shower" and 72 minutes later after much nagging and yelling, she's cleaned herself!!

10. Story's favorite new lullaby? Dynamite by Taio Cruz. I know, right?

The Toenail Fairy

About a month ago, I, along with my friend Sally**, was invited to judge my school's cheerleading tryouts by my esteemed colleague Susie**, the cheerleading coach.

Didn't that sound professional?????

As usual, I brought Ivy and Story with me, and they spent most of their time in the warm-up room playing with the ranks of the cheering hopeful. Story lasted until right before the scoring began, and then she hadtohavehermommy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Some well-meaning students brought her to me in Susie's classroom.

She played around the room where we were adding and figuring out the squad, seeming to be content as long as she and I were in the same place. Sally left for the restroom, and as she did, Story eyed the door with a particular interest.Our classroom doors and kind of heavy, and will close themselves unless propped open.

I really didn't pay attention to Story and she opened the door, then let it fall closed repeatedly. Opening it was hard for her because the handle was above her eye-level. After a couple of minutes, Story found that she could do with it what she wanted- ride the door as it shut.

She opened it, held tight onto the handle, picked up her feet, and the door would give her a little ride as it closed. I think I even pointed out how cute it was to Susie once.

Unfortunately, a downside to the heavy doors and Story's lack of height was that she couldn't be seen from the other side of the door.

When Sally came back from the bathroom, she opened the door, not being able to see Story. And Story, unfortunately, had her feet on the ground trying to pull the door back to ride again. There was a scream, an, "Oh no!" and Story started bawling. I ran, picked her up, and told her to shake it off as usual.

Then I saw the blood.

It was pouring out from under her big toenail. I ran to the bathroom, leaving a red trail behind us. I didn't know what to do, so I ran it under cold water...and it wouldn't stop. Sally and Susie followed me to the bathroom with a band aid, but it was several minutes until I could put it on. And what was left? A toenail I was sure would come off.

As the days went by, the toenail started rising, and looking just plain gross. I couldn't bear the sight of it, and just kept applying band-aids. I confided in my friend Jenna that I was sure I couldn't deal when the thing fell off. She was my support, having lost a toenail herself once.

As the days turned into weeks, I became angry. Why hadn't the stupid thing fallen off yet?? Why was I being tortured by the likes of a toenail?? Story wasn't about to let me cut it off, and I wasn't sure I could do it either. Finally, one day when we were at Jenna's house, and Ivy and Story were playing with her daughter, Jenna came outside with a baggie. "Story lost her toenail!!" she exclaimed.

So, not only did I not have to witness it, I didn't even have to deal with the clean-up!

The only issue was Jenna had told Story that the toenail fairy would visit her that evening. All I had to do was remember to put it under her pillow. Right.

First, I lost the toenail. Then, I forgot to put anything under her pillow. She didn't remember till late the next day, so I thought, okay, I can do it tonight instead! Except the next day, I forgot again. Luckily, I changed the sheets, though, and when she asked about it, I pulled a 5 dollar bill out of my wallet and thrust it into her hands, explaining I had found it when I changed the sheets, which was good enough for Story.

And then she lost the $5 somewhere. I hope to find it in the playroom soon. Mom of the Year right here, people!

**names have been changed to protect my innocent bffs Traci, Jamie, and Myrtle. Oops, did I just say that?

Story and Hat Day

I'm always trying to walk the fine line between having my kids stick out enough to be special, and then be like their classmates enough to blend in. And I'm always trying to avoid being like my mom on dress-up days.

See, my mom (bless her heart) could take a fun day like "hippie day" and turn it into the worst day of my life. Mom would get so excited, spending an hour or two planning out every detail of my wardrobe on hippie day, pulling out all of her old bell bottoms and suits and shoes and jewelry. We'd straighten my hair, draw a peace sign on my face, and she'd send me off to school...where everyone else had just put on a tie-dyed shirt. If I'd been the person I am today, I would have tried to rock it, but at thirteen I wanted to blend more than anything.

So, this is the dilemma I am faced with when I dress my kids up. How can I guess what the other kids will be doing? How can I make sure no one will laugh at my girls?

Today was hat day at Story's daycare in celebration of Dr. Suess. My plan was to send her in Ivy's "Cat in the Hat" hat.

Except we couldn't find it this morning. I searched, Ivy searched, my husband looked, Story ran around looking forlorn. It was nowhere. So, I used my powers of persuasion to get her to wear the only other hat I could find: a Santa hat. She was on board, life was good.

Then, on my way to work, I got the call from my husband, who informed me that all of the other little girls in Story's class were wearing pink ball caps with Dora and other assorted girly characters on them. I felt so bad as he described how she took the hat off and put it in her cubby. As he told me in detail the look on her face, I hung up, feeling worse than ever.

I dialed the daycare, and while talking to her teacher, I was convinced that I had to rectify this situation. I called in to work, made what was probably a highly illegal U-turn, and hightailed it to Wal-mart. I parked in the first space I saw, ran in, and bought a $7 Barbie ball cap. I ran back outside, realized I was in a handicapped spot and was getting dirty looks from a woman walking past my car, so I tried to limp a little. I know- lame.

I drove straight to the daycare, spun my tires in the lot pulling in, and ran into the building waving the cap proudly. I walked breathlessly into Story's classroom where everyone, teachers and kids alike, looked at me like I was nuts.

"Here! Story! Here's a new hat!" I cried. She reluctantly put down her toy at the insistence of her teachers and walked over to me, looking at me like I was some kind of alien.

I held the hat out to her and said, "Is this better than the Santa hat?"

She regarded me coolly for a moment, then reached in her cubby and brought out the Santa hat. I took it from her hands, and pushed the Barbie cap into them. "Try it on!" I urged. "Want me to put it on your head?"

She shook her head, took the cap out of my grasp, and placed it in her cubby where the Santa hat had been, Then, she ran back to the corner.

Stunned, I called, "Story! Want a hug?" She stomped back and gave me a half-hearted hug, and went back to her toys without another glance.

"It's okay," the teacher told me, "She's just not used to you being here right now."

That might be true, but I just know I've already scarred her for life.

Ivy's report card

Today Ivy got her first report card. It was a chart of things her class works on, and a letter that symbolized her progress on that item.

Ivy's teacher gave it to me when I picked her up from her room today. He said if we (parents) wanted to talk about it to wait until he took the class to the cafeteria, then he'd be back to discuss it.

So, I sat down in a chair next to one of Ivy's friends, and she sat on my lap. I looked at the chart and say several P's and D's....I immediately think "proficient" and "distinguished," and was so proud of my little girl.

Then I look at the key...P means "proficient" but D means "developing."

On the attitude portion (you know the part that has "listens to directions" and "interacts with peers") she has ALL D'S!!!!

(On a side note, you should know that I'm pretty competitive- and not the good kind either. I tend to imagine that I'm not competitive at all until I notice something is not up to snuff...then I become a pageant mom.)

After playing the high five game with Ivy and her friend (you know, gimme five, up high, down low, too slow), I start to quiz Ivy. I say, "Ivy, do you get along with your peers? I mean, friends?

She says, "Yes, Mommy."

I say, "Well, your report card says that you are only "developing" your ability to do that. What about listening to directions? Do you listen to directions?"

Ivy says, "Yes, Mommy, I always do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that's not what your report card says."

Ivy then bursts into tears and starts wailing at the top of her lungs. In a classroom where 6 adults are sitting in kiddie chairs and 6 little kids are asking, "Ivy! What's wrong? What's wrong?"

I start whispering in her ear to calm down, we'll talk about it later, which only causes her to cry louder. By this time, every parent in the room is eyeing me with suspicion. Who is this strange lady who is making her little girl cry over a report card? It's your kids' music teacher, folks!

I finally get her to calm down, and then I just take her out of the room. What kind of a monster am I? I wonder. One who wants her kid to be the best!! the competitive part of me answers.

After I'd stashed Ivy at the afterschool program, I went back, where Ivy's teacher told me she was doing just fine, and her P's and D's were top of the line.

And then I had to tell Ivy that yes, her Mommy was wrong. She actually was good in school. (She'd better be! that voice whispers again.)

My life is (on) a highway....

I was traveling home from my mom's house yesterday on a four lane highway.  We'd been making pretty decent time when I noticed in the rear view mirror (which is placed on my kids, not the road, ha-ha!) that Story started squirming and crying in her seat.

"Story! STORY!" (I had to scream loud over the Polly Pocket DVD) "What's wrong??"

"Mo-mom-mo-momma-mom-mommy!" (because she's in that stage where it takes her forever to get a word out) "My butt huwts!"

"Why?" I asked. I was met with only more wiggling and whining. So, I started looking around. I noticed a BP up ahead on the left, so I pulled into the lane, signaled, and drove in. Just because they spilled a bunch of oil in the gulf doesn't mean I can't use their bathrooms.

I got both kids and my wallet out. We walked into the almost empty gas station (which is good because lately Story has developed this thing where she likes to almost jump in front of cars and scare me to death). We walked past the guy at the counter and into the bathrooms. I put Story on first after I coated the seat with paper. She peed. I said, "Your turn, Ivy."

"I don't hafta pee." Which she would say even if she had pee running down her leg.

"I don't care." I grabbed her, yanked the pants down, and placed her on the toilet. She peed.

I sat down about the same time Story got really interested in the trash can. She started to touch the lid and I yelled, "Don't!" She diverted and touched a piece of chewed up gum stuck to the trash bag. I yelled, "Nooooo!!!!!!"

Now, some days you can yell until you're blue in the face at Story and she laughs at you. Other days you can look at her kind of sternly, whisper "no" and she collapses into tears and screams. You can guess what kind of day this was.

She looked at me with big eyes. The tears welled and spilled out over her eyelashes. She put her hands up to cover her face in shame and wailed. And I mean WAILED. I tried to comfort her as I washed her hands. She screamed louder. I thought about the guy at the counter calling social services. He probably thought I brought the kids in here to beat them.

Then I did the only thing I could think of to bring a halt to the tears. "Wanna treat?"

"Yes!!!" they both shouted with glee. I took them out into the store and looked around. I decided to get a cup of coffee. They decided to get blue slushies. We went to the counter and paid for them.

We walked outside and Story immediately jumped off the curb and out into where there would be cars if there were any cars there. I yelled, but fortunately she was so excited about the slushie that she ignored my mean voice and jumped back up on the curb.

I laid my wallet on the hood of the car as I buckled the kids in their seats. As I did it, I thought, "Shew, I'd better not forget this. It would be horrible for my wallet to be spilled all over the highway." When I have thoughts like that, I should really learn to listen to myself.

I hopped in my seat after trying to set Polly Pocket back to where she was when we turned the car off. We backed out of the spot, and I went forward. I had to wait about three minutes before I could pull out, during which I should have paid more attention to the hood of my car.

When I pulled out and got up to speed, something flew at my windshield. It hit with a thunk! and I ducked and looked into the rear view mirror (which is how I have to use it to actually see the road) just in time to see my wallet crash to the ground in an explosion of little white, plastic cards.

"*&@^$#!!" I said as I pulled into the median.

"*&@^$#? What's *&@^$#?" Ivy asked.

"Nothing you should EVER EVER EVER say again!!!" I screamed as I slammed the car door and ran back to where my wallet was sitting forlornly in the middle of two lanes.

I got the wallet before it was run over by a motorcycle. I waited out two cars and picked up my license. I started collecting bits and pieces of things that had flown out of my wallet as it crashed to the asphalt, leaving the receipts and *sob!* my ticket stubs from Eclipse.

I ran back to the car with what I could find amongst the trash that people throw out of their cars and did inventory. I had my license, my medical card, a couple doctor's appointment cards, and my cash (which had stayed in the zippered pocket- thank God I didn't put it where my cash actually should go!)

"Mommy, what is*&@^$#?" Ivy insisted.

"*&@^$#!! *&@^$#!!" Story yelled. Great.

I tried to explain what cussing was to Ivy, how it was even worse than saying "stupid." She kind of didn't get it, so I fully expect a call from her teacher or another parent tomorrow asking me just what I've been teaching my child. In the meantime, I'm sure Story will be teaching all the three year olds in her room that word tomorrow.

Practical Advice for My Daughter

So, Ivy is starting Kindergarten.....and as her mother, I'll be called upon often to give her advice on socializing. And I've decided to be truthful with it, rather than that PC garbage everyone tells you. I remember the social hierarchy of grade school, and I see it every day. I plan on giving her real and practical advice. And if there is one thing I am, it's realistic.

"Be Yourself!"

• Everyone tells you to be yourself. "People will like you if you just be yourself!" I say this is stupid, Ivy. People might not like you if you are yourself. I've encountered that several times, just as I've encountered people I've never liked because they are themselves. So, my advice to you is this: You can try to be yourself, but if you find that after a couple of weeks no one likes the real you, then alter it a little. You can always change back into yourself after you have your friends hooked.

"Be nice to everybody!"

• This one's all right up to a point. You can be nice to everybody, Ivy, but you can never trust everybody. Every best friend I ever had in grade school told a secret, blabbed to the boy I liked, sold me out to the popular-girl-torturers, etc. I say, yes, pretend to be nice to everyone, but don't trust everyone with your stuff. Especially the girls.

"Dress in your own style!"

• This is absolutely wrong, Ivy. You can do your own style in high school. I am definitely going to be honest on this- Ivy, you can't wear tutus. Or princess dresses. Or those T-shirts you love that are stained and holey. Trust Mommy.

"Just because everyone else is jumping off a bridge doesn't mean you should."

• Okay, Ivy, don't jump off a bridge. But sometimes I know you have to play the game. Everyone does. Don't go along when they're being mean to someone....but I understand the playing of the game. It's a lifetime skill.

"Be proud if you can answer all the questions."

• Sure, you can be that kid with their hand always up in the air, stretching as high as they can, waving at the teacher wildly. But, if you are always that kid, the other kids will smell it. It's okay to be smart, but not to be annoying with it. Don't lord it over the whole classroom.

"Just learn at your own pace."

• But don't be the opposite, either, Ivy. Try. As long as you're in the middle of the pack I'm good. :)

"It's great to be a leader!"

• But nobody, and I repeat nobody wants to play with the bossy kid. Life is all about compromise and give-and-take. Don't make everyone do what you say, do not refuse to play with others just because you didn't get your way...on the flip side, don't let everybody else tell you what to do all the time (except your teacher!). I know, it's a tightrope. But learning to walk it early will mean great things.

"Think outside the box!"

• No. Don't. Stay in line. Do not cut line, or skip line. Don't take "fronts" or "backs" unless it's okay with all parties. (Fronts are much better than backs, true friends will give you fronts!)

And, of course like every daughter in the history of mothers and daughters, she won't listen to me until she's thirty. but, at least no one can say I didn't try.

The difference between #1 and #2

Ivy was my first, and Story was my second. Even though they are only 2 years apart, their early days were totally different.

IVY- in the hospital, I was not going to let Ivy have one single drop of formula, no matter how much those nurses pushed it.
STORY- in the hospital, on the first night when Story cried and the nursing wasn't cutting it, I called for formula.

IVY- she wore Pampers and Huggies in cute designs.
STORY- Since Ivy was still in diapers, Story wore generic...didn't really matter where they were from, but they were the cheapest diaper in the store.

IVY- I knew the exact second when she was going to grow up a size in clothes, and the next size was already washed and hanging in the closet.
STORY- I would be buttoning something, and it wouldn't close! I'd look at the tag and realize I was trying to stuff my 9 month old baby into a 0-3 month onesie. And then I'd still wait a week to get the old baby clothes in the next size out of the attic. I think we skipped 12 month-sized clothes entirely because I kept forgetting to bring them down.

IVY- I could recite how many months, weeks, and days (and sometimes hours!) she had been alive.
STORY- I continued to tell everyone she was six months old until she was 10 months old. I just couldn't remember. One day a woman said, "But I thought you said she was born in March?" I responded, "She was." "But it's January," she said. Oops.

IVY- By the time she could put her feet down and stand on her legs with help, we were holding her hands and letting her pretend to walk. She never crawled, just started walking at 9 months.
STORY- As a result of our previous success with Ivy, I threatened the lives of anyone who tried to help Story walk. She didn't walk until she was 15 months old.

IVY- Every second of Ivy's day was planned. We had playtime, nap time, I did visually stimulating things with toys.....TV watching happened not very often, if at all.
STORY- She was watching TV at 2 weeks, and her "visual stimulation" was watching Ivy play with blocks and me cook.

IVY- rarely sat in a bouncy seat.
STORY- lived in a bouncy seat.

IVY- The doctor was called if her temperature went up to 99.1. Or if she sneezed. Or if I thought she has a tummy ache or an ear infection.
STORY- got Tylenol. I already knew the dosages. :)

IVY- I sang ABC's, kid songs, and lullabies.
STORY- I sang songs by Maroon 5, the Beatles, and Dave Matthews Band.

IVY- when she'd fall, we'd cry with her and wrap her up in band-aids.
STORY- when she fell, we'd say, "Come on, girl, shake it off!"

It's not that we were excellent parents to Ivy and bad parents to Story....it's just the second time around, you know what to expect. Of course, I can see the differences in their personalities- Ivy cries if she stubs her toe and Story would jump off the kitchen counters if allowed......but it's possible that has nothing to do with me, right? :)

Rubber Bands

This morning I woke up at 6:10 AM naturally. I felt good. I did yoga. Then, I decided to put Law and Order SVU on the TV upstairs and tackle the playroom. I got that done and everyone was still sleeping, so I tackled the office (otherwise known as the bane of my existence).

At 10 AM I was shredding papers and the only thing that was left were two rubber bands and a trash bag on the floor. I absentmindedly decided to put the rubber bands up, but then Ivy came in the room. She wanted to understand the ins and outs of shredding papers, why I did it, how the thing worked, etc. I forgot about the rubber bands.

She came downstairs with them minutes later, and I promptly took them out of her hand.

"Ivy, you can't play with these."

"Why, Mommy, why?" she asked.

"Rubber bands are dangerous," I said.

"How?"

I put some heavy thought into my answer. "Because you can poke your eye out." Poking your eye out, getting a shot, going to the hospital all strike fear in the heart of Ivy.

She regarded me with big-eyed awe. "How? How can you poke your eyes out??"

I was sure it could be done, but I wasn't sure I wanted Ivy to try it. So, I got down on her level and looked her square in the eye. "Ivy," I whispered theatrically, "I can't tell you that."

"Why?" she whispered with the same dramatic flair.

"Because, then you might try it. On your sister." She thought for a moment, and then nodded.

"Okay."

New score? Mommy: 1, Ivy: 29874026.

An observation

Ivy and Story used to hate taking their nightly dose of Zyrtec. My husband created a comfortable, supportive routine in which they can take the medicine.

First, I give them each a small cup with the dose in it and a sippy cup of Kool-Aid. Then, Daddy will coax them into taking their medicine followed by a drink from the sippy cup. The entire time, the girls used to be crying and begging not to have to take their medicine.

Now, it's like a contest to see who can take it the fastest. Daddy says, "Go!" and the both tip the medicine cups into their mouths, trying to swallow the medicine as fast as they can. Almost simultaneously they slam their medicine cups on the coffee table, grab their sippy cups with the other hand and suck down some kool-aid before they can taste their medicine. Then, they get and give "high-fives" to each other and us.

Does this sound like a certain type of behavior to you? I'm a little worried about sending them off to college one day......

Playing pretend

Ivy really enjoys playing pretend.

Her favorite way to play pretend is to tell me what to do. This evening she came up to me and whispered in my ear, "Mommy! Pretend I need a special dress."  I said, "Okay."

Then she steps away from me and says, "Mommy, do you think I need a special dress?"

I said, "Yes." And that was the end of the game.

Often, playing pretend with Ivy is a much longer process. Sometimes I am not sure how to participate. One time she whispered, "Mommy. Pretend I am a princess and you are an evil witch. I want you to poison me, but then I will get strong and turn into a pegasus and stomp on you, and you will turn to dust." I stared at her blankly. How should I proceed with this one? Do I grab a cup and pretend it's poison? Am I really supposed tgo get stomped, or is that part pretend? How does one pretend to turn into dust? At that point, when I realized I was contemplating pretending I was dust, I walked away.

My favorites are the times she includes Story. "Mommy. Pretend that you are our Mother." That's hard. "Story is a very bad child and I am your very good princess angel girl." Really? "And you have to punish Story for stealing my fairy wings. You should punish her by making her sit in that chair in the corner." There is no way I can do this- Story would think I am really putting her in time out. I try to explain that to Ivy. But, from the time she finished her sentence, she has been pretending, and is NOT happy with my part in her melodrama.

Really, my best option is to hide. When I hear Ivy talking to herself and pulling play clothes out of the closet, I take to the hills. Or at least the bathroom.

Kool-Aid vs. Juice

So, here's my latest entry for Mom of the Year- I give my kids Kool-Aid.

My kids don't like juice really. And juice is expensive. I'd probably spend $10 a week in juice, but it takes me 3 months to spend $10 on kool-aid.

Plus, juice has all sorts of sugar in it. I control how much sugar I put in Kool-Aid. And I usually put less than what the package says. In fact, my husband hates my kool-aid because it tastes like water. So, that's good, right? My kids are practically drinking water!


If I run out of kool-aid, I always have more to make right then. If I run out of juice, well, that's a trip to the store! Time wasted that I could be spending with my kids! (Okay, that's a lie, it's time wasted that I could be spending on facebook.)

And I feed the kids fruit. I think I read somewhere that it was actually better to feed them the fruit than for them to drink it. So, technically, I'm an awesome mom for giving them *almost* water to drink AND feeding them fruit, right? (Let's not think about how wild they are, okay? Just focus on the theory.)

In this train of thought, I should also be applauded for my constant use of ketchup (lycopene, people!) and the way I push cereal (vitamins!). Yeah, they eat fries, but I bake them, which everyone knows is waaaay better than putting them in oil! And the only candy they consume is what they get when Mommy's not paying attention and they drag the stool over to the countertop and rummage the top cabinets where I keep my stash. Okay, it's technically their holiday candy that I hide from them for my own use, but that's just one more awesome mom quality! I hide candy from my kids!

Now that I have confessed my greatness, the next time I hear a knock at the door, I'll open it widely welcoming the Mom of the Year committee proudly into my house....or I'll be hiding under the bed from the social workers.