Bad-mama-of-the-year award goes to ...

 A column I wrote, not used by the Herald-Times, so just sharing with friends.

This column was written by Lynne Foster Shifriss of Bloomington.

There is a girl in New York City
Who calls herself the human trampoline
And sometimes when I’m falling, flying
Or tumbling in turmoil I say
Whoa, so this is what she means
She means we’re bouncing into Graceland ...
                                             -- Paul Simon

I often think of the above lyrics when I'm contemplating how far the actual me is from the person I want to be.
I think that is especially true of my role as mom to three kids.
 Jordie and I often say -- "Boy, we really lucked out with those kids!"
They're all IU graduates, working at jobs they can feel good about.
And I know some of it is luck. Possibly good DNA. But one thing it isn't is having had perfect parents.
This is one mama who made a heck of a lot of mistakes.
The kids actually do a little routine in which they mimic -- using first initials only -- a stream of curse words I supposedly shrieked at them. I used to be embarrassed but now I just say "If I did do that, you must have richly deserved it" or "It'll be good material for your therapist."
But the sometimes-too-quick temper was not the worst of it.
High on the list of ways I screwed up was my lack of organization.
In my professional life at the Herald-Times as assistant to the editor, features copy editor and early morning web mistress, I learned to juggle a myriad of tasks, prioritize, handle pressure and breaking news.
The very first morning I worked the early shift alone, there was a shooting. I heard it on the police scanner and snapped into automatic -- consulting with police, the editor at a sister paper, posting a short story to our website, Facebook, Twitter. Calling the editor at home, and the police reporter. Times like that were easy, work-wise. Common sense.
But the day-to-day stuff ... piled-up papers and too many unopened emails could be a real problem. I had to work to get better at organizing all the information.
At home, there was no boss to hold me accountable.
I never finished writing everything in their baby books.
Where's that paper? Probably in the pile on the dining room table.
A recipe? Just look it up on the iPhone.
I was the mom who carried a bag with wrapping paper, tape and scissors in my car trunk to take care of the birthday present we would buy at Target on the way to the party.
I once flew to New Jersey because of a death in our family. The kids -- all grown -- were to follow a day later, parking my mini-van at the airport. They had a little visit with a (luckily) sympathetic cop on the way, because I'd forgotten to renew my license plate.
Probably the worst thing I did, though, what really earns me that "bad mama" title, was to lose the kids' Social Security cards.
That has also been the source for comedy routines in our home.
Of course, as I said, the kids turned out all right. And our oldest is the most organized person I've ever met, which goes to show it's not genetic.
As others coo over a new baby, uttering wisdom like "Be sure and take a nap while the baby sleeps!" and "Don't worry, they all talk at different ages!" I've been known to give out this bit of advice: "Buy a file cabinet right now and use it!"