With experiance

There is an odd transformation that happens to mothers when they have more than three children. This is especially true when they have children in both the teenage and toddler year age ranges. Their personalities and senses of humor change. The mother who couldn't stand to let her children wear a shirt with stains on it previously no longer cares about the stain, but thinks that everyone should be grateful that there is a shirt on the child at all.

Cereal or pancakes become acceptable dinner food due to that either the meat was not removed from the freezer, or the mystery meat once cooked still resembles nothing identifiable and you are not sure whether the dead parakeet or hamster was ever taken out of the freezer to be buried when spring came.

As you watch new moms hover over their precious toddlers at the playground to ensure they don't fall or jump from a place too high, you barely bat an eyelash when your own surfs down the twirly slide or jumps from the fireman pole platform with a mighty flop and roll onto the mulch below.

There is a better understanding of the "Lord of the Flies" kids down the street who ritualistically chase each other with various lengths of PVC or sticks, depending on the day. In fact, you begin to admire the ingenious rational behind the PVC yourself, as that the "baby" carefully consumed the last four Nerf swords.

You find yourself threatening things such as "If you don't be quiet and behave I am going to sell you at the next auction I find" only to have a response of "We're not worried Mommy, we are pretty sure there won't be any bidders. Especially not after last time. "

Instead of immediately rescuing the small child who is balanced on the back rim of a folding chair on top of a container of bubble mix on top of the counter top in order to reach the top of the refrigerator, you spend several minutes searching for your camera, and then proceed to take ten or fifteen shots. You email some to your mother and father to prove that your children are indeed worse than you ever were, and file the rest in the "Grandparent's Revenge" box, that you will show your children when they complain later about some escapade their own child has managed.

Many women have made ample amounts of money detailing their family's exploits - and will continue to do so. Let's face it, they are funny and misery loves company. We love to know that we are not going insane. We are not failures. Our children are not doomed because we let them watch too much TV, run around naked, or consider using them as examples of Darwinism at its finest.