My mother yelled at me.

Well, kind of.
She found (and by "found", I mean, I typed in the URL and moved away from the screen so she could read) my blog. She naturally found me witty and insightful. And pretty. She says I'm the most beautiful second daughter she has. I'm not sure what that has to do with my blog, but yay! I'm pretty! :twirls around in post:

She did, however, take exception to the word "failed".
"But you're NOT a failure!"
"Oh, mom, but I am. And it's OK. This is all about embracing those failures and not beating myself up for them."
"Yes, but you're a wonderful mother. You're just comparing yourself to what you feel society says you should be based on Oprah. The Pioneer Woman. Martha Stewart. Where is your self love? That's why I love Branden's book 'The Six Pillars of Self Esteem'. It talks about all of that. Positive self regard starts with you. You can't teach your kids to love themselves if you don't love you." (note to self: never have a discussion about self worth with a sociologist.)

Ok, yes. She is correct. I'm not an actual failure. I just feel like a failure. Why? Because I'm not 120 pounds (I know, I know. You're shocked). I really don't like to do laundry. I don't cook dinner every night. There's always laundry to do. I name the dust bunnies in my house (you act like you don't. Dust bunnies are people, too.) I spend too much money. Please, feel free to add your own personal failures here:

(Ok, just do it mentally. This is not an interactive blog.)

The point is, I know I'm not actually a failure. My kid is the very definition of awesome. Seriously. Go look it up. I did that. And he is loved. Clean (mostly). Fun. Smart. We color. Go on playdates. Run around the park. Everyone who meets him says "is he ever not smiling?" (hahaha. Yes. Catch him at 4am when he's tried to crawl into my bed for the 193813 time. Aw. Crap. Add that the list of things I do that I shouldn't. Not bedshare. Or wait, bedsharing is a no-no now. Or something. Either way. His feet do not belong in my face.) So I'm a pretty good mom. I really am. Mainly because I follow three simple rules:
1) Love your kid
2) don't hurt your kid
3) sugar will not hurt your kid and is an excellent tool for bribery. (:gasp:)

Ok, ok, pearl clutchers. A little sugar. Deep cleansing breaths. I'm not advocating pumping your kid with an IV of corn syrup. But you know, some? Not gonna hurt them. And this brings me back to my point. Why do we suddenly feel like we have to defend our choices? Why is sugar the new evil? (It's not, by the way. Try making browines without sugar. Not so tasty. Not so tasty at all. And I think we can all agree that brownies are not evil.) I think we feel this way because we are bombarded with books, TV shows, blogs, magazines, our own mothers (hey, man, just calling 'em like I seem 'em. Love you, ma.), and perhaps the worst of all? OTHER MOTHERS who make us feel like if we don't do everything just so, we're going to irreparably damage our children. For like, ever. I don't think we are. Mainly because I have yet to find two books that agree on anything. Is it OK to Cry it Out? Sure. If you want your kid to hate you forever. But if you don't, your child will never sleep and will enter Kindergarten (if precious lives that long without her much needed beauty rest) a drooling exhausted mess who doesn't even know her colors and only speaks one language. See? You can't win.

And thus, I've given up trying. It's not even worth it. Does that make me a failure? In the eyes of the world? Probably. But I don't care about the rest of the world.
I care about my son.
Who is the happiest little boy I've ever met. And I did that.
Go me!
(I think Branden would be proud.)