Sarah peed on the carpet in my room today.  Again.

She does it every day.  I don’t know why.  She admires the dogs I guess.

Of course no one bothers to tell me that there is a puddle of pee slowly seeping into my 6 month old carpet, burrowing itself down to my waterproof pad, daring me to suck it out with my steam cleaner.  Nope.  They just let me step right in it.

Now I know what you are thinking.  Poop on the floor the other day, pee today…  what kind of household is this woman running?  Apparently one that considers bodily fluids valid decorating choices.

When I step in the puddle, quickly containing myself before blowing up at the kids, thus scarring them for life, I ask who has done this.

Sarah says, “ME!”, with pride.


I start the normal you are too big to pee in your pants, why can’t you go in the potty, speech that she so obviously ignores.

Katie pipes in, “It’s your fault that she pees on the floor Mommy.”

Before I panic and think she was preparing for future therapy sessions, I realized that she is confused, I hope.  She is thinking that since it is an accident, it has to be someone’s fault.  Since Sarah is just a kid, it must be mine.

I laugh, tossle her hair and turn my attention to removing the spot as best I can.  While muttering under my breath.

I am curious though. Is it my fault?  Is it all on me when my children misbehave, have issues, or don’t appear to be up to others standards?

Because I am a stay at home mom, should it all be on my shoulders?

Sure, my husband is involved.  But he works really long hours and is usually very tired and more interested in loving on his children than disciplining them.  I can’t say I blame him.  If I were away that much, I would do the same thing.

So, there really is no one else to take the brunt of the bad stuff.

In fact, it is just true that when my kids misbehave, whine, and throw tantrums, people do look to me to correct them. My husband does not get the expectant glares, the comments followed by nervous laughter, or the quick glances behind his back.  As if I do not have enough scarring from birthing them, I must now carry the burden of it landing on my shoulders.  And I must possess the ability to control these little people with big demands?

Maybe Katie, in her innocent comment that she thought was funny and meaning something else, hit the nail on the head.  It is all my fault.  My responsibility.  My burden.  

But if I get to take the bad, then I also get the good.  I get to glow with their laughter, relish in their hugs, beam with pride in their accomplishments…  without feeling like I am bragging.  I get to take all of the credit for their good manners, ability to do something their friends have not yet mastered, and claim brilliance at their intelligence.

It is just a fair trade- off.

After all, it is all my fault!