Are you concerned about flunking parenting?  That you’re scraping by with a C- simply by clothing and feeding your offspring?  Do you have the nagging feeling that you, and only you, are missing the genetic code explaining Garanimals, Lunchables, and Pokémon cards?

Fear not, brave reader.  You Are Not Alone.

If any of these sound familiar, rest assured that you’re in good company.  There are plenty of parents who are doing their level best and still have these wtf moments.  I would know.  Most days I feel like I’m leading the charge.

Join the club.  We’re thinking of having t-shirts made.

– What do you mean, you didn’t say thank you??

Emptying backpacks for a trip leads you to find your kid’s end-of-year teacher cards (with gifts) still inside.  In July.  For the love.

– The Cheese Stands Alone.

When you nail down the crown for Queen of Mean on the fifth grade field trip because no, we are NOT spending our last thirty minutes in D.C. searching for a Starbucks.  No, I don’t care that the whole group is going and no, that look on your face doesn’t have a chance in hell of changing my mind.  Now suck it up and get into the Air and Space museum.  (Tweens, sleep deprivation, freezing cold, and our nation’s capital.  Good times.)

– Epic parenting fail.

When it’s time to leave for an evening activity and you realize you made sure chores were done, homework ready, and dogs fed…but completely forgot to actually feed the children.  Sorry, kids.  Grab a power bar and we’ll get dinner afterward.

– Drop it like it’s hot.

It’s an (admittedly) strange evening in the house.  We’re having a dance party in the family room, and T-man cues up our (aka the girls’) request: Megan Trainor’s Dance Like Yo Daddy.

Push down that flow and shoulder roll, and shoulder roll
I said push down that flow and shoulder roll, and shoulder roll
Now hitch, to the left, and hitch, to the right, can you overbite?
Can you old men overbite?
Simon says go touch your nose, Meghan says touch your toes

T-man thought we were averaging our usual amount of weirdness, right up until the point where I dropped and touched my toes.  Then he stared, wide eyed, as if I’d starting gyrating by the fireplace.  (In my defense it’s a very danceable tune.)  I may have scarred the boy for life.

See?  Your mama moments aren’t looking so bad right about now, are they?