Tonight I made Max eat tortellini from the trash. Ok, it was just resting on top of the trash. But nevertheless it was in the trashcan. And when he gagged (yes, he gagged), I told him that if he threw up on my kitchen floor I would be mad.

Ladies and, well, most probably you’re all ladies, I submit Exhibit One in the case of bad parenting. It was textbook. I’m tired and looking forward to my only reprieve of the day: a cup of tea. They’re tired because we went to a flea market, out for lunch, swimming and to a birthday party. Nobody wanted to eat my lovely dinner. Max was glued to his iPad, nagging me for a $99 Halloween costume. I stepped on a Lego piece. And so after the 15 minutes of hooligans not listening to me at bedtime routine, Max said he was hungry, and I lost it.

To compound matters, I couldn’t lock Mia’s bedroom sliding door, and after repeatedly texting my husband who was fiddling with his plane in Denver, I attempted to fix it myself, which involved the alarm beeping every time I opened the door, which apparently made Max think that I was packing my bag and leaving. Exhibit Two?

Then Mia came in with a prepared speech, while I was wrestling the sliding door, which included the line, “we’re just kids and we love you”, at which point I seriously considered slamming my hand in said sliding door.

I’d love to say that the evening ended all kumbaya, but after consoling my poor boy who by this point was asking me to forgive him (can you feel my heart breaking?), I barely made a graceful exit for the tea kettle.

Moral of the story should I have to plead my case to a judge? Lots of deep breaths next time, and hey, it wouldn’t have hurt to slip the kid a cracker in bed. Sometimes it’s so hard to remember to count to ten and look at the lighter side of life. And sometimes it’s hard to remember that they’re just kids, when I have adult needs, like a cup of tea. Speaking of which, I think I just heard the kettle. We live in hope that rooibos cures all. Even bad parenting.