The Good, The Bad, and… The Misunderstood

Some stories in motherhood become part of the family lore — the kind that get retold at holidays, whispered during car rides, and laughed about long after the sting of the moment has faded. Our original Parenting Failures story is one of those. It started on a heavy day, turned into a misunderstanding, and somehow became one of our favorite inside jokes.

Apparently… the tradition continues.

This past week, I was having one of those sweet, slow conversations with Addison — our 12‑year‑old — about what life might look like when I retire someday.

I told her I’d probably wander botanical gardens with a wagon full of camera gear, photographing bugs and flowers like the eccentric old lady I fully intend to become. She nodded, completely unfazed. She could already picture it.

Then she asked what I’d do on rainy days, and I said, “Oh, I’d just stay home and write books.”

That was the moment everything shifted.

She looked at me with absolute certainty and said, “Mom. You will NOT write books.”

I laughed and teased her, “You wouldn’t read books if I wrote them? What if they were about you?”

Instant horror.
Instant tween panic.

I tried to clarify — “Not about you, Addison. About all three of you. My whole motherhood journey. The good, the bad, and the ugly.”

She froze.
Her entire face changed.
And she said, “MOM. That’s so mean.”

It took me a minute to understand what she thought I meant… and then it clicked.

She thought I was naming my children, in order by age.

The good.
The bad.
The ugly.

And yes — she assumed she was the ugly.

I had to explain (and explain again) that it’s just a phrase. A storytelling device. Not a ranking system. Not a label. Not a declaration of who’s who in our family lineup.

Just a mom trying to describe the full spectrum of motherhood — the beautiful parts, the hard parts, and the parts that make you question everything… including your communication skills.

So here we are.
Another misunderstanding.
Another dramatic child.
Another story added to the family jokes.

Apparently… we’re still parenting failures.
Or parenting failures.
Emphasis optional.