Thank you, Reality TV, for Making Me Feel Like a Better Parent

This weekend, while we were at a parade, my seven year old came up to me and announced in a hurt voice, "Do you know why I hate my life, Mom?"
Normally, as a parent, the thought of ever hearing this from any of my children would have caused me immense pain.
Not after four kids. He's lucky he even got a reaction out of me.
I turned to him and sighed. "Why do you hate your life?"
"Because," he said. "You didn't buy me that helium balloon I wanted from that lady who was selling them."
I barked out a laugh. "Kiddo, let me tell you...if that's the worse thing that's happened to you this far, consider yourself very lucky."
He just looked at me, trying to figure out if my speech and/or tone of voice meant he was going to walk away with a balloon.
"I mean really," I continued. "At least you're not one of those 19 Duggar kids on TLC. I didn't give birth to a couple softball teams and make you get your teeth brushed and fed meals regularly by an older sibling."
He stared at me, his eyes narrowing.
I was on a roll. "I doubt those Duggar kids even get to go to a parade. In fact, when they show up... they are the parade. And no one's handing them a balloon."
At this point Wyatt realized his ploy didn't work, and he turned around to join his friends.
I settled back into my chair and felt good. Once again Reality TV shows have bolstered my confidence as a parent.
Perhaps as the tv audience we're supposed to feel sympathy for some of these people. And I do. I do feel bad for the lady who has to pee in her backyard because her bathroom is filled to the ceiling with Readers Digest magazines. I gag when I realize there are people who hoard animals and live with their floors covered in chicken shit.
At the same time, it makes that ring around my toilet seem a little more tolerable. And with having a young boy in the house, my bathroom always seems to be on the verge of smelling like a Texaco station restroom anyway.
AIM PLEASE. That's all I ask.
My mother has always kept a beautiful home. Beds are always made, dusting and vacuuming are always done on a regular basis, and I can't ever remember seeing dried toothpaste in the sinks. I think she probably braces herself mentally every time she steps foot in my home.
Dozens and dozens of shoes scattered haphazardly in the entry way.
Dishes piled in the sink.
Laundry breeding on its own.
Dog hair everywhere.
I always tell myself I'm going to get better with keeping my house clean. But whenever I start to get too hard on myself, I watch an episode of "Hoarders" and breathe a sigh of relief. No one in my house is at risk of getting smothered or buried alive under a pile of shopping bags. As a mother, I can check that fear off my list.
Another show I love to watch to make me feel good is "Intervention." Sometimes I have my older girls watch it with me. Admittedly I do this for two reasons.
1. So they know the dangers of getting involved with drugs and alcohol.
2. So they know how good they have it.
"See," I'll tell them as I sip from a glass of wine while watching the show. "You guys don't know how lucky you are. At least your mother isn't passed out in the driveway while you kids have to bike around me. I've never had to go to Walgreen's to buy 10 bottles of mouth wash so I can catch my daily buzz."
I'm not sure if my "lessons" are working yet with them, but it sure is fun.
Now on the flip side of using reality tv shows to my advantage, my children are attempting to use them to their advantage as well.
Both of my older girls have told me they wanted a "Sweet 16" party, just like on MTV.
"Ha!" I laughed. "That's funny. Maybe I can afford a Barbershop Quartet to sing at your party."
"Mom! Not cool. Usually the kids get a car at their party too. And Uncle Shawn does work at a car dealership..."
I just shook my head. "The only vehicle you can probably expect to get is your dad's beat up Saturn, with over 200,000 miles and extensive body damage."
Chloe thought she would avoid her older sisters' plight and announced to me: "Don't worry, Mom. I don't want a Sweet Sixteen. I want a Quinceanera when I turn 15."
"Chloe, you're not even Mexican."
"So what?" she shot back. "I look Mexican."
Well, she does indeed, but I think I can just buy her a poofy skirt, take her out for dinner and call it good.
So to all of the old school scripted television shows that make me feel like a complete parenting failure - Brady Bunch, Leave it to Beaver, Little House on the Prairie - I say your time is way over.
Bring on the drug addicts, alcoholics, hoarders and dance moms... you ladies make me shine!