I have 3 kids, I have a tweenie, a teenager and a baby boomer. (He’s really my husband. He just acts like a child.) He’s one of those special needs husband, needs to be reminded that when he takes the kids out, he needs to bring them back home. Once he left them in a bookshop. He did, and went home. He claims the fault was mine, that I can’t communicate properly because when I said to him “I’m going to go to the $2 shop, can you take the kids home with you” he only heard “^**&#$*&^@)(mce_markeramp;@$(*.” To be fair I did say this when he was in the queue to purchase a book and was focused on being served, I should know he can’t multi-task. Luckily when he remembered them they were still there, and they’d read the entire Harry Potter collection. Saved us two hundred dollars.

I have always thought of myself as an honest person – however since having children, I have turned into a liar, or as I see it, a protector of innocence. What happened to good old fashion questions from kids like “Where does Santa live”, “How old is the Grinch?” and “Why do I have to eat my broccoli?”

After listening to Lady Gaga on commercial radio, my 9 year old daughter turned to me and asked me what a ‘disco stick’ was. After my initial panic, I turned and look her straight in the eyes and explained that “in my day, discos had balls that hung from the ceiling over the dance floor but since I haven’t been to a disco in years, I suspect they now use a stick”. She seemed satisfied with the answer, however only some weeks later I had to explain why it’s not fair that Lily Allen never gets to scream in bed. Parenting is not what is used to be – our mothers complained about having no washing machine and using cloth nappies … not sure which is worse.

After a teenager in NSW was awarded an $800,000 payout after a bunk bed fall incurred during a sleepover I have been encouraging my kids to organise sleepovers at their friend’s houses instead of ours for two reasons. 1) I want to pay off our mortgage, and 2) it will give me time to install a safety switch, get public liability insurance, do a first aid course, learn to use an epi-pen and a nebulizer, devise a Critical Incident Management Plan and get a Police check for all the adults in our house before my kids invite any of their friends over again.

On a recent trip to the grandparents on the other side of town, we stopped at a supermarket where we witnessed a 4 year old ‘Braedon’ throwing a tantrum and even worse, his mother screaming at the top of her lungs, telling him to’ get over ere before I come and get ya’.  Interesting experience for the kids since in our perfect part of town, mothers would never highlight their child’s bad behaviour in public.   To most people that day, Braedon was a misbehaved boy but to me Braedon was an opportunity… a new form of discipline.   When my kids misbehave in public – all I have to do is ask them, through my fake smile, if they want to see Braedon’s mum?  The impending thought of their mother screaming at the supermarket checkout is enough to induce excellent manners … at least until we get to the privacy of our own home. I am no longer the meanest mum in the world … Braedon’s mum is.