by Susan Day Campbell

Created on: January 26, 2008   Last Updated: January 29, 2008

Mommyhood can try the patience of even the most perfect parent. As just such a paragon of virtue, I can attest to that. For instance, children, when faced with what should be a relatively uncomplicated task, like getting dressed for school, will suddenly find that the most basic of abilities now eludes them. Skills which they have long since mastered simply evaporate from their consciousness. At our house we call it the "Twitterdink Syndrome."

* Perfect parents use creativity and humor to clarify each and every educational experience.

It's 7:05 a.m. and the bus is due at 7:35 a.m. Heather is not dressed. Her potentially glossy curls remain as snarly as her present expression. The hot and nutritious bowl of Cinnamon and Spice oatmeal waiting for her on the kitchen table is slowly congealing into a repulsive mass of road-fill.

"Mo-o-o-m, I can't find my hairbrush!" she wails and flings herself onto her unmade bed in a magnificently wretched heap. I marvel at her ability to make the word "mom" into two - no, make that three - syllables.

* Perfect parents appreciate their children's unique talents.

Apparently my normally brilliant daughter has inexplicably lost the ability to navigate her way across the hall to the bathroom drawer where her "Pretty as a Pixie" hairbrush has resided for virtually all of her six years of life.

* I consider the wisdom of acquainting my budding thespian with the concept of overacting.

Meanwhile, Scott, her two year old brother, the epitome of perpetual motion, drums energetically on his high chair with his Wiggles sippy cup. The resultant shower of orange juice beslimes the table, the floor, the curtains, and of course, himself. He is now fully lubricated from his orangy-sweet little head down to his ten sticky little piggies. In a show of ambidexterity, he happily stuffs Honey Nut Cheerios up his nose with the other hand.

* Perfect parents generally approve of multitasking. In this case, I'll make an exception.

"Mo-o-o-om! My ha-a-airbrush!"

"It is right where it's always been in the bathroom drawer," I shout down the hall, as I begin a mostly futile excavation of Scott's Cheerio-engorged nasal cavities.

* Perfect parents maintain a constant aura of patience and reason in dealing with insubordinate or mischievous children.

"N-no i-it's n-not," she insists, her voice breaking tragically between each and every word.
* I remind myself that perfect parents do not grind their teeth.

"Then look in the other drawer. Maybe you put it there."

"It's

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