who made me 'mom'?

Some days, I marvel at my skills as a mother. I am not talking in the 'thump my chest and proudly diplay my fabulous parenting abilities' way. I am talking in the 'Oh Lord, what have I taught these poor children NOW' way.
I find it hilarious when my three year old displays his middle finger marred by a hangnail.
I am tut-tutted by a seven year old when I talk 'potty talk' at the table...almost every night.
I change words in songs to "poop", "bum", "boogie", etc.
I attempt to laugh quietly when my son removes his fingers from his bum crack, takes a sniff and promptly chases his sister around the house with said fingers.
I occasionally sneak the last of the halloween candy, nanaimo bars, or coveted snack and then claim ignorance when ask who the offending party may have been.
I use the f-word occasionally often.
Sometimes, if I sit and take score of all these skills socially inacceptable behaviours that my children have learned, I am horrified. I am stunned by my inability to act mature and adult-like. I chide myself for the crap job of showing my little ones "appropriate" behaviour....
But when the next fit of giggles overtakes the three of us as the dog passes wind, I get over it.
Life is short. Life has too few laughs and too many hard lessons. I say "Bring on the poop jokes, pull out the whoopie cushions and use foul language occasionally"....just make sure MY mother doesn't hear!