Mother of the Year, Lifetime Achievement

Clearly, my life is no thrill-a-minute, full-of-wonder daily experience. I just went two weeks without any inspiration — nothing — to write about.
But then, out of nowhere, or so it seems, my mothering instincts fall short and lo and behold we've got writing fodder.
For starters, I learned yesterday that a friend puts stickers on baggies in her young daughters' lunches to promote healthy eating habits.
Me? I always thought "Eat the damn carrots or no dessert!" worked pretty well.
What am I? A mother of four? And yet, my capacity to screw up can be astounding.
I thought our 11-year-old was capable of self-supervising her homework after a week-long vacation. Failing to cross-check her claims, I sanctioned a few episodes of Hannah Montana and an hour of playing Webkinz on the computer.
Two days later, she reported that she had been so busy catching up on her homework, she didn't have time to study for a science test at any point during the weekend.
"So, Mommy," she explained, "I got an F."
I gave myself an F for parental involvement, or the lack thereof.
I also should have known better when, on an impulse, I caved into the 13-year-old's request for a flashy, new water bottle as a reward for her daily running efforts. Since my usual answer is "no," I thought I'd try "yes" for a change.
She was excited and motivated. I felt warm, fuzzy and a bit smug in my all-loving, all-knowing mother mode ... until hours later, when I actually read the inspirational statements printed on the bottle.
In addition to such nice thoughts as "Breathe deeply and appreciate the moment," "Your outlook on life is a direct reflection on how much you like yourself" and "Friends are more important than money," there was this:
"Children are the orgasm of life. Just like you did not know what an orgasm was before you had one, nature does not let you know how great children are until you actually have them."
Yikes. After 19 years of parenting, you might think I had explored all potential lapses of judgment. Yet, here I was, wading in over my head into the unchartered waters of not sex, but sexuality. Note to self — thoroughly read all items prior to purchase.
In hindsight, it sounds bad, but I actually weighed my options — point out the problem and suffer the embarrassment of talking about orgasms with a 7th grader or keep my mouth shut and let her deal with the fallout when her friends check out the bottle.
I sucked it up and broached the issue as delicately as possible with as few words as possible, mumbling something about something inappropriate. Then, I bought her another bottle with only one, completely safe comment on it: Green is the new black.
Hmmm. Wonder what adventures in motherhood await next week.