I’m a huge pop culture fan. I regularly read People and Entertainment Weekly. The lives of celebrities are somewhat interesting to me. I do not, however, think of celebrities as role models, especially when it comes to parenting.

There’s a group of women in Hollywood that I call celebumoms. This is the word I use to describe big stars that are mothers. America has a growing fascination with them. First of all there are the bad or questionable celebumoms – Britney Spears is probably the poster child for this group. She seems to be digging her way out of this.

For some reason, America has a misguided notion about so-called “good” celebumoms – Angelina Jolie, Katie Holmes and Julia Roberts are examples. People assume that because we see these starlets hauling their kids around like accessories, they are excellent moms. That may or may not be true.

What is definitely true is the fact that these Hollywood leading ladies have help…LOTS of help. They have nannies just waiting to grant their every wish. Thinking back on when my kids were babies, if I had that kind of help, I would have looked a lot better and been far less crabby. Just imagine the sleep I could have had!

What drives me nuts is when I read quotes describing stars as “hands-on” mothers or “really connected” to their kids. If by “really connected” you mean viewing the children at least once a day, then yes, they are connected.

Just once, I’d like to read an interview with a celebumom where she says: “You know what, I haven’t slept or showered in a week. I’m constantly on the verge of tears and have no clue what day it is. Oh and I can only fit into maternity clothes. Yeah, it kinda sucks.” Does that mean she’s a good mom? No. But it means that she’s a real mom and that’s far more interesting to me.

This past weekend, I chaperoned a choir trip to Disney World. Although the thought of warm weather was enticing, mine is not typically the first hand up when it comes to chaperone duties. I love kids, but I’m best at dealing with them one or two at a time. I’m the mom that doesn’t mind stuffing envelopes instead of doing playground duty or going to the pumpkin farm. Hide me in an office instead of on the bus with the kids. Truth be told, I’m not good with drama from other people’s kids.

But this was a different situation. It was a choir of all girls – 14 of them in all, including my daughter. They seemed like really nice kids, between the ages of 15 and 18. Then again, I’ll totally admit that I was cautiously optimistic at best. You never know with kids – especially girls. Will they be mean? Will they obsess over their hair? Will they fight with each other? Will they run around outside our hotel rooms all night long? Will they ostracize each other so that the quiet ones end up hanging with the chaperones?

Miracles of miracles, none of that happened. They were really nice. Sure, there were a few latecomers every day and I don’t even want to tell you how messy their hotel rooms became. (God bless the housekeeping service. They earned their paycheck this weekend.) But I have to say, this was the perfect trip to chaperone. There was virtually no drama.

You know what that means? The next trip I chaperone will be awful, just awful. I'm counting on it.

There are moments in motherhood that they don’t tell you about when you’re all glowy and postpartemy. If they did, you might just hand the baby back and say: “You know what, thanks, but I guess I’ll pass.”

Those moments are the ones when you do a gut check and say to yourself: “I don’t think I can do this. I have no clue what to do next.”

Motherhood has no instruction manual. In fact, I’d liken the moment that they hand that beautiful, stunning child to you, to the moment you pass your driver’s test. (Something for which there is an instruction manual. Hmm…that’s ironic, isn’t it?) In the blink of an eye, you go from something you wished for, hoped for, worked for, to a moment where you look at people and say: “Wait, what? Seriously? I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Of course you’re all madly in love and wanting to show off the world’s most beautiful child. But deep inside, there’s that nagging hint of doubt that makes you wonder just a teeny bit whether that potential to screw this thing up will ever present itself.

And as the child grows, and little things happen, you wonder again: “Do I have the right stuff?” Or, you think the way I do: “WWCBD (What would Carol Brady do?)”

Growing up, glued to the TV set, I thought the Brady Bunch’s Carol Brady was my maternal idol. When she wasn’t rockin’ her shag hairdo or cutting flowers while gazing at her artificial lawn, she was dispensing incredible nuggets of wisdom to her beautiful, blended family. While Alice did all the real work, Carol stirred something in a pot (making us think she actually cooked) and then had time to sit with the kids while they ate their wholesome after-school snack.

As a naïve and impressionable child, I just assumed that I would parent the way that Carol Brady parented – with style and grace and a kick-ass housekeeper.

Big surprise, Carol and Alice were pure fiction. The only way to really be a parent is to roll up your sleeves and get dirty. Sometimes horribly dirty. To be there when the kids come home and fall apart. To NOT have all the answers and to question virtually everything that you and your kids do. To discipline and be hated for it…but to still be there the next morning. To lose sleep because you let your mind wander to the worst-case scenario.

Truth be told, I tend to be kind of a negative person. If I’ve made a decision, I’m often guessing it’s the wrong one. I just assume that every other mom has cooked and cleaned and parented better than I have. But once in a while, my kids will do something that gives me a glimmer of hope. They make me feel, in that moment, that even if I don’t have the right stuff, at least they do. And to me, that’s good enough.

How many is enough? At what point and when do you realize you are finished having children?

For some women, thanks to infertility, they don’t even get the luxury of that question. For others, it’s a concern weighted by elements such as health, family dynamics, faith or  finances.

When I was a young, unmarried woman, I thought that I wanted a big family. My sister, who is 13 years younger than me, was an infant during my adolescent years. To me, taking care of a baby was fun!

Fast-forward to marriage to a guy from a very large family (9 children.) I figured they’d give me the secrets to parenting a large clan. Alas, they didn’t, and eventually, we figured out that a large family wasn’t what we, or God, had in mind for our lives. (Turns out that while I was a snoozing teenager, my mom spent many days and nights working VERY hard taking care of my sister.)

On the other end of the spectrum, you have people like the Duggar family in Arkansas who are currently pregnant with their 18^th child. Yes, I said 18. And it will be no surprise when I tell you that they are getting their own reality show. (Click here to read about it.)

It was interesting reading the comments from readers under that article. Some people were outraged and downright indignant.

I don’t know about you, but I worry more about teenage girls having babies than a seemingly stable couple whose house may be bursting at the seams. Who am I to say how many kids are right for them? I think they’re crazy and I’m kinda worried about that mom’s long-term health, but it’s their choice.

What do you think? Do you agree with their choice to have such a large family? If not, does it make you angry? I admit that I'll be watching to see how they manage...to stay sane! Share your comments below or e-mail me at misscrankyblog@yahoo.com .