We’ve all heard the saying, “Misery loves company.” There’s probably a lot of truth to that, but the word misery just sounds so—miserable. But can you consider a new twist to an old cliché? Like Moms love company.

We tend to be so focused on our own kids. We zero in on their words, their grades, their behaviors. I recall being so upset when in K5 my son got in trouble for yelling in class. There was a note in his backpack that said, “I yelled ‘butt’ in class.” After chastising him for 10 minutes, he asked me if I had seen the other side of the note. It read, “I yelled ‘penis’ in class.” My first thought was to write back to his teacher and say, “Don’t send any more notes home until he says ‘vagina.’” I didn’t think that would foster a very good relationship with his teacher.

But when I first saw the note, I was mortified. I kept thinking, Why would he say these things? I never go around saying penis. What have I done wrong? And then he told me there were other kids who were saying the same things. They would all say the words and then giggle. I was so happy when he told me that. I almost didn’t care what words he said.

Of course our kids aren’t the only ones doing the things they do. But when their behavior is on the negative side, we may feel that way. It may come down to the fact that we do love company. There is a certain amount of comfort in knowing it’s not just us. Like realizing other moms are struggling to lose weight. Or finding out other women are trying to balance work, kids, and marriage.

So keep in mind that all of us have something going on when it comes to our children. Likely a lot of somethings. So if your kid says a naughty word in class, just know there are a million other moms going through something similar. Yep, millions of kids yelling “butt” in class every day. You’re in good company.

So Beyonce and Jay-Z started the New Year with a new baby. But they got a little flack for the antics that surrounded baby Blue Ivy Carter’s birth.

There have been reports that partitions were erected, the windows of the maternity ward were completely covered, and security cameras had paper taped over them. Apparently, all that was done to protect the privacy of mother and child.

I can kinda sorta relate. On a much smaller scale. The scale that doesn’t include covering security cameras and windows. But I do recall wanting only a select few people within a 20-mile radius of my newborn.

When we left the hospital with my son, I didn’t even want to look anyone in the eye. That might convey an interest in conversation. No interest here. Just let me get my baby home.

While my husband went to get the car and left us in the lobby, I sat as far away from anyone as I could. Hospitals have germs. C’mon people, I have a newborn here!

Oh, man, that ride home was something else. It was as if I had never seen cars before. I sat right next to my son, one hand on the infant carrier. Gripping it, actually. Literally a backseat driver. I kept remarking to my husband about how close the other cars were. And how rude some of the drivers were. It seemed like everyone was speeding. I never liked those signs parents would put up in their cars that said Baby On Board. Until that car ride.
And then once the baby was home, it was total freak-out time. The endless thoughts roamed through my mind. Do I wake him up to feed him or wait till he wakes up? Does he need another blanket? Why is he grunting? Now he’s not making any noise.
Going out in public took some getting used to. The grocery store was the worst. An infant in a grocery cart is almost as popular as the lady with the free sausage samples in the meat department. I was hypersensitive to what was going on around the baby. Every cough. Every sneeze.

And then, inevitably, someone would reach out and want to touch the baby. I am very proud of myself for not biting several hands.
So yeah. We all want to protect our squishy new babies the best we can. Some of us hide from the paparazzi. The rest of us run from well-meaning old ladies in the grocery store.

So during what was an unusually quiet ride to school, my oldest son asked me, “Mom, how come you don’t drink that stuff in the dining room?”

At first I wasn’t clear on what stuff he meant. Then I realized he was talking about wine and other alcohol we have stored out of reach from anyone under the age of 21.

Now is this the point where you tell your kids that Mommy made a fool of herself one too many times in college? Or at house parties? And those oh-so-happy Happy Hours too?

“Well, sometimes alcohol makes a person feel and do things they maybe shouldn’t do.” I thought maybe that would be a sufficient answer. Nope.

“Like what kind of stuff would people do if they drink too much alcohol?” He insisted on knowing.

Man, there was a list of things: cussing out an ex-boyfriend, entering a hot legs contest when you are way beyond dancing capability, falling asleep on the bathroom floor, puking in public… Yikes.

“It’s just dangerous. People could have a hard time driving and get in an accident. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He didn’t sound convinced. “Yeah, but then shouldn’t it be illegal?”

I don’t even recall what I told him. I just know I was relieved that he already understood the consequences of “that stuff.”

Recently, I gave my youngest son a time-out for using a word that I felt was not child appropriate.

While he was in his room thinking about what he had done, I could hear him muttering to himself. He wasn’t convinced he had done anything wrong. So I decided I would explain my point of view to him.

“Time-out is over; you can come out, but I need to talk with you,” I said, standing outside his bedroom door.

He opened the door, and I looked down to see him looking up at me with a huge scowl. Ouch!

I crouched down to be eye-to-eye with him. “I just want you to make good choices—even with your words. Sometimes there might be words that aren’t good for kids to use. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

All I got was a stare. And that scowl.

So I asked again. “Listen. I need to make sure you get what I’m telling you. Do you understand what Mommy’s saying?”

Same thing. Okay, now I’m getting a bit frustrated. Lovely. First I had an issue with his choice of words. Now it’s the refusal to use any.

I knew he was just upset about being sent to his room, so I thought I would give him one more try, this time trying to calm myself down as I asked, “Do you understand what I am saying?”

The stare was still there.

Okay, kid. Game’s over. “When I ask a question, I need you to answer me. Do you get what I am telling you? Say yes or no.”

Still staring and scowling, he quietly responded, “Yes or no.”

It’s best to know when to walk away.

We hear a lot about how different we are. Politics, race, religion, economic status. But when it comes to women, it seems that we always find a way to connect.

Recently, we had a 3½-hour trip home from California, and I was planning to sleep. Actually, I was planning to sit in between my boys and keep them from fighting and dream about sleeping. But as it turns out, there was another mom of two boys who sat behind us. You can already see where this is going.

I think we first talked about health issues. And we were quite chatty and probably not super quiet. So there is a good chance that everyone from first class to 10 rows behind us knows that I am a nervous flier.

Of course we talked about our husbands. Like my husband, hers is a middle school teacher. We both understood the frustration of budget cuts and the beauty of summers off.

We both live in the Midwest. And we both want out of the Midwest. We had been through the same blizzard last year and agreed that when the snow is taller than your kids, winter loses its luster.

I was telling her that recently a friend of mine sent me a purse that had a horse riding theme and the proceeds go to help retired and rescued horses. What do you know? She owns and rides horses!

I don’t know what religion this woman was. I have no idea whom she will vote for. But I do know that was one of the fastest 3½-hour flights I have ever been on. As we walked to baggage claim, my seven-year-old asked me, “Are you friends with her, Mom?” I don’t remember what my answer was, but I do know that I made a connection with her. And what a nice lesson to teach our kids. That no matter what, we generally have more in common with people than not. And for women, kids give us that. Kids and chocolate.

My new philosophy is that we all have gifts. Sometimes those gifts are obvious to others. Sometimes not.

And some moms are really good at being moms and all that comes with it. Like today. A friend whose kids attend my kids’ school asked if my kids would like to come spend the day at their house because they were off from school. That was a gift. Just the offer.

Normally when the kids have off, it makes my skin tighten up. Not the kind of skin tightening that takes the crow’s-feet away. The kind that just adds another layer of physical stress. That is a direct result of trying to figure out child care for the kids when there is no school. Babysitters, neighbors, the Y are all typically considerations.

I like for my kids to have their friends over. But generally within 30 minutes, I have had all I can take of passing gas, running through the living room, and arguing over the Wii remote. And, of course, to impress the other kids, I allow large amounts of sugar to be consumed. That is a predictable recipe for disaster.

But this friend is one of those moms who can handle all that craziness and make it seem less crazy. Oh, and she has three kids of her own, including twins. And she’s super organized. She calls me ahead of time and asks what foods the boys like, if they have allergies, what toys they can play with, and which movies they can watch. She has it all covered. Today I had been at work for 30 minutes when she sent me a text saying she had already baked a banana cake! I’m thinking picking something up from the Cheesecake Factory is a big deal.

After making a cake, she took the kids (all five of them) to a museum, out for lunch, and to a movie. See, for me, just the thought of all that is a lot of work. Each time I arrive to pick up my kids from her house, they frown and tell me they don’t want to leave. That’s always an ego booster. But the truth is I’ve thought of ways of asking her to move in with us, but I know that it would seem creepy. That, and I think her family is pretty happy with her.

So yeah. We all have gifts. And one of the nicest things you can do with the gift of being a good mom is to share yourself with other moms. And your banana bread.

The other day I received a card from two friends. Inside the card was a Starbucks gift card. And I have to say I don’t think my reaction was normal. When I saw that gift card, I jumped to my feet and shouted, “Starbucks!” And I did a little dance of sorts. The visual alone should frighten you. It was kind of like a teenaged girl meeting Justin Beiber or a wide receiver doing his thing after catching a pass for a touchdown.

I think back over the years to what things have given me that kind of happy. The list is long. Getting my driver’s license. Graduating from high school (actually, I think my parents danced more for that one). Graduating from college. Having a good-looking guy ask for my number (hey, it could have happened). Getting tickets to see Bon Jovi. Buying my first house. Getting engaged. Finding out I was pregnant. Events all worthy of the happy dance.

Somehow after having kids you need to be reminded that you are an adult. You can only take so much Barney and Elmo. When you’re answering Dora the Explorer’s questions, it is so time to find your grown-up space. For me, Starbucks is that space. Think about it. Most Starbucks are clean. There’s no pink glitter strewn across the floor. No Hot Wheels on the chairs. No sippy cups. But they do have an awesome display of coffee mugs for sale. And the menu is in some special language. I don’t know what it is, and I really don’t care. I just know that Caramel Macchiato sounds so fancy. It may very well translate into “No backwash, juice boxes, or breast milk here.”

When the boys were younger, I recall wanting to go inside Starbucks, but knew it would be a three-ring circus to get in and out of there without having a major issue with a stroller, screaming baby, or overtired toddler. No worries. I mapped out every single Starbucks in town that had a drive-thru. Best invention ever. I would order my fancy, hard-to-pronounce coffee drink and get a mammoth-size cookie for the boys. It got to a point that when we’d pass a Starbucks, they would point and say, “Mommy, cookie!” I always hoped that my husband wouldn’t catch on to their cryptic messages. I’m pretty sure that our visits were costing us like $50 a month, but I really didn’t care. I felt grown up.

You really can’t put a price tag on what makes you want to do your happy dance. Change that. I think a $10 Starbucks gift card will do the trick.

You’ve probably seen the books. They’re yellow with black letters. They’re called Cliffs Notes. I always thought it was a neat idea in school. You could get the idea of a particular story without actually having to do all the work.

Now I don’t want to give the impression of being a slacker mom, but really the idea of knowing how things will turn out in life ahead of time would be awesome! And it’s an abbreviated version, so you save the time.

Cliffs Notes for motherhood would be ideal. And each mom could have one just for her life. Think of it as a type of mother’s helper. You can peek ahead to see what happens next.

Here is a rundown of sample chapters:

• Yes, your baby is going to be colicky.
• Your baby will go to sleep if you drive her around the block 50 times.
• Yay! You will get that first grade teacher you hoped for.
• That minivan you saw on Craigslist…don’t buy it.
• Letting your child cry himself to sleep won’t send him to therapy.
• Your child will not get whooping cough, but will get back-to-back ear infections within two months.
• The dog will love and protect your kids. The cat—not so much.
• The neighborhood kid with the tattoos and the body piercings is actually one of the best babysitters.
• That four-bedroom ranch house you’ve been eyeing up has major plumbing issues.
• Your husband is not cheating on you, but couples therapy would be a good idea.
• The amount it will cost to raise your child from birth to 18 is four times the amount you calculated.
• The bed that costs $2,500 could be one of the best investments for your back and your marriage.

I mean, think of all the time, frustration, and money you could potentially save if you knew what was going to happen before it did. Sadly, there are no Cliffs Notes for parenting. We figure out motherhood as we go along. But maybe some of the ones before us could give us a heads-up now and then. I mean, I bought every single Baby Einstein video, and my kids still haven’t told me about the Theory of Relativity.

So after 72 days, Kim Kardashian found out that she no longer wanted to be married. She told Glamour magazine, “It means that I believe in love and the dream of having a perfect relationship, but my idea of it has changed. I think I need to not live in a fairy tale like that. I think I maybe need to just snap out of it and be a little more realistic.”

As young girls, we may have had some fairy-tale thoughts, but as most of us found out, that’s just not realistic.

For one thing, fairy tales have knights in white armor. Think about that getup. Very cold. Not to mention out of date. My guy wears Levi’s.

Or Prince Charming. If he is so charming, how come he was never married before?

If you live in a fairy tale, you wear poofy dresses. Can you imagine nursing a kid in that type of outfit? Oh, and there is a crown. It does look a bit pretentious.

And a fully loaded minivan is way cooler and faster than a horse-drawn carriage. That’s not gonna work shuttling kids to violin lessons and soccer games.

In fairy tales, there are fairies everywhere. Like we don’t have enough dust to deal with already!

And pardon me for saying this, but gnomes are a bit creepy.

Characters in the fairy-tale world live in castles. Do you know how much it would cost to heat that thing?

Fairy tales are great. For Disney. For the rest of us, maybe a minivan, a husband with a slight beer belly, and imperfect kids are just fine. Okay…maybe maids waiting on us every now and then would be okay though.

I stumbled upon a study that said 33 percent of wives think their husbands find them less attractive since having kids. And the majority said they felt tired.

Maybe we aren’t less attractive. Maybe we just don’t place the same amount of emphasis on our attractiveness. And quite possibly that is because we are tired.

And just when I have rationalized all this attractiveness stuff, my oldest son remarks, “Not to be mean, Mom, but how come you aren’t as pretty as you were when you were younger?”

Well, let’s see. I didn’t have a job that I cared if I lost or kept, so there was no stress on the work front. Happy hour wasn’t when an infant went to sleep. It was cheap drinks and laughs with my pals from the office. My metabolism actually worked. There was no need for coloring my hair; there were none of those gray imposters working their way in. I basically really only had to worry about me. No worrying meant I could sleep uninterrupted for hours! I was free to go places—besides Target.

I didn’t want to tell him those things. It was a harmless question. And truthfully, I signed up for this life. Well, except for the stretch marks. I just kind of shrugged it off and vaguely explained that people change when they get old.

Later that same day, my youngest and I were face-to-face discussing something. At one point he stops talking to me and reaches out to touch my face. His right index finger lands smack-dab in between my eyes. “Why do you have lines there?”

Sigh. I asked my husband about the fact that my appearance has changed since having kids. He said he constantly tells me he thinks I’m attractive, but that I don’t listen. Note to self: Start listening.