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.

OK, I’m going to try and bring this up as nicely as I can. And, I’m going to try to remember that I am not and was not a perfect parent at any point of my life. And….I’m going to do my best not to offend every mother in Milwaukee. (Although, hey, maybe I’ll actually get a comment or two – bonus!) OK, here goes:

I think parents today are too permissive. I think their kids are riding roughshod all over them. The inmates are running the asylum.

A case in point: The other night, my husband and I treated ourselves to a movie and dinner. We ate at a nice restaurant in a nice neighborhood. Although we were not really dressed up, some people were. In my book, that means be on your best behavior – i.e. don’t bother those around you.

There were a couple of families there. And, apparently, in one of the rooms, there was a piano. I didn’t think anything of either the kids or the piano until they met. Suddenly, all of us were treated to somebody’s piano recital. Somebody’s beginning piano recital. I know this because I remember when my kids played those exact songs exactly just as badly.

I think kids and pianos are fabulous, just not in a restaurant where soft music is already being played over the sound system. I tried to relax and tune it out, but it was impossible. It went on for about 15 to 20 minutes. My husband went to the restroom and said upon his return that it was a very young child and her beaming mother. I’m sure she was proud of her child, but why does that have to interrupt everyone else’s nice quiet dinner? I don't think that child was exhibiting bad behavior, but it just didn't seem the right place or the right time for her to tickle the ivories.

But bad behavior is in other places. It’s in churches and stores and malls. Kids are running and jumping and screaming and the parents seem completely oblivious. I know full well how tough it is to control young kids, but lately, it seems like nobody is even trying. It’s as if they’re afraid to say no to the kids.

I have lots of memories of eating at restaurants and sitting outside the front door or in the waiting area because my then-toddler wasn’t behaving. My husband and I would tag-team it, rather than bothering the other patrons. The crying room at church was practically my second home. And I have a great story about a trip to the mall that lasted all of three minutes, thanks to my daughter and one of her many early temper tantrums.

My philosophy then was not to subject others to my kids’ poor behavior. Nowadays, it seems like more parents prefer to negotiate with their kids and the rest of us have to deal with it. Hardly seems fair or polite.

What do you think? Are today’s kids well-behaved or are they out of control? Is the art of being considerate toward others no longer part of our manners? Or am I just being Miss Cranky once again? (It wouldn’t be the first time!)

If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’m often guilty of taking the path of least resistance. I’m big on shortcuts when driving. I’m all for “semi-homemade.” And I have composed many passive-aggressive e-mails that have saved me from face-to-face confrontations.

The problem with taking the path of least resistance (let’s call it PLR) is that it never really deals with the problem at hand. Here’s my current dilemma: To clean or not to clean. I am talking, my friends, about my kids’ bedrooms.

It would not be a stretch to say that, at one time or another, my kids' bedrooms could be considered potentially hazardous and toxic. I have, indeed, found items on their bedroom floors that could not be identified without help from a local crime lab. Suffice it to say, they can get really gross.

And it really bugs me. It really bugs me.

So, like any mom, I have approached the messy bedrooms in a few different ways: I have nagged. I nagged until I almost yelled at myself to stop whining. Then I yelled. I yelled until the dog was cowering under the coffee table. I have threatened but I think there’s something in the Geneva Convention on whether or not I could carry out my threats. Finally, I resorted to PLR. I cleaned it myself.

I know, I caved. I totally broke the mom code and just did the deed myself. Yes, I felt like a hypocrite and yes I thought long and hard about the message I was sending. (Welcome to Camp Mom, enjoy the free maid service!)

And no, it wasn’t easy. In fact, it was gross. Somebody needs to invent laundry tongs because going through the clothes on the floor and determining what is dirty and what was tried on and rejected can be downright nasty.

Sure there are privacy issues. Teens deserve privacy, to a certain extent. That is, until most of their underwear is still on their bedroom floor and there is an excellent chance that they’ll go to school “commando” if that laundry isn’t put down the chute.

The thing is, as a mom, you pick and choose what to stress about…at least I do. I could make a huge deal about the messy room. Or, I could take care of it myself from time to time and hope that the de-cluttering message absorbs into them by osmosis. Hey, I can dream, can’t I?

What about you? How have you tackled the great room debate – to clean or not to clean? Does your kid's room drive you nuts?