Oh, my kingdom for back lighting. And a key light… and oh, if only I had some Oprah lightening for Cool Mom.

I digress. My mother Morency is back.  t’s funny the differences from what we remember about our childhood and what really happened and how that affects how we are as mothers.

If you remember it wrong do you then parent badly?

Sometimes it cracks me up when I hear friends-or myself- say “well, when I was a kid…” As if we all turned out so freaking fabulous we should emulate our upbringing. Isn’t that what our therapy was for, to undo some of how we were raised?

Still I do keenly remember how my mom handled it when I got out of hand, and I thought it taught me something.

But is my memory faulty?