Hey "bad moms," let's give ourselves permission to feel competent

Since the birth of my daughter, I've found myself using the phrase "I'm a bad mom" a lot. It horrifies my husband, who associates bad moms with criminals, not ordinary women with ordinary flaws.

Think about your best girlfriend who is also a mom. Now imagine someone called her a bad parent. How would you feel?

Somebody said it to my face once. He didn't really know me, had never met my daughter, he was just a drunken dick in the bar where I work, but he said it, he looked me in the eye and said: "You're a bad mother." Let me tell you, it's one hell of a fucking insult, and we should never, never, say it to ourselves.

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Egg-cessive gift giving: Is Easter the new Christmas?

In my humble childhood experience the Easter Bunny brought chocolate, candy, and perhaps a few small toys — all of which are the appropriate size to fit in a basket. An actual basket! Not a toy bin, not a kiddie pool — a basket. What's next? Children sitting on the lap of a man in a bunny suit asking for the trendiest toy of the season?

Once we start down this slippery slope of excessive Easter gifts where do we draw the line?