12 Things My Kids Don't Know That I Do

Yes, I sometimes blame it on Daddy or say that they forgot they finished it the night before. But it is me who eats the ice cream and flying saucers at night. Guilty as charged.

There's a goody-bag bandit in our home, and we don't know how he got there. He comes in at night and steals all of the garbage-y trinkets that come in birthday party goody bags. Actually, it's Mom, and I do it because I just can't stand the junk lying around. The kids NEVER miss it unless they find it sitting on top of the garbage because the bandit forgot to shove it to the bottom of the bag.

When one of my favorite shows is on and the DVR says it can't tape it because it is taping its zillionth Full House rerun, guess which show I'm going to vote for . . . Yeah, sometimes my episodes of Scandal and The Good Wife take precedence.

Every parent reaches their breaking point. It's knowing how to identify it before you reach it that's critical to your success as a parent. While my kids may think my "going for a run" is just part of my exercise routine, what they don't realize is that it's a necessity for my mental health. No run = mean Mommy.

They know I type on the computer for most of the day. They know I sometimes bring home toys for them and their friends to test out. And they beg me not to take pictures of them to post on our Instagram account. But it wasn't until my son googled my name with some friends recently that he understood that all that typing turns into articles that he can look up.

My kids are bona fide pasta fiends. There isn't a noodle shape they don't love. But getting them to eat their greens (or even a carrot) is work. So when it's been a few days, guess where those veggies (and protein) go? In their pasta. Sometimes it's in their ravioli and sometimes it's mixed into the sauce, but this way, regardless of how much they protest eating the whole vegetable, I know they're getting the benefits.

This may be the biggest lie I tell them. It's just that sometimes, I don't want to go to the stationery store for the 10th time this week to pick up another pack of baseball cards. Until they can drive or figure out how to look up the phone number and call the store themselves, I think I'm safe.

OK, I know all parents do this, but my 9-year-old still thinks the tooth fairy comes to visit, and I'm going to perpetuate this as long as I can.

My kids think I go grocery shopping just to get food. What they don't know is that I secretly enjoy walking up and down the aisles looking for new products or ways to change up our routine. I actually find it relaxing (at least when we're in the suburbs and the aisles are big and wide — here in the city, it is just frustrating!).

It's a time-honored tradition. Before I go to bed each night — be it 11 p.m. or 2 a.m. — I tiptoe into my kids' room and give them each a kiss on their forehead. In that one move, I check to make sure they're breathing, feel their heads to make sure no one has a fever, and whisper a few things in their ears. I remember my mom doing the same thing with me when I was a tot — only I used to pretend I was asleep so I could still hear her whisper, "Good night, sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite!"

They don't know that deep down, I'm worried if they're happy. I'm worried if they're REALLY healthy. I'm worried about how they're doing in school. I'm worried about their friendships. I'm worried about that bruise that won't go away. I'm worried about their nail-biting. I'm worried about everything. But as long as they don't see it, we're all OK, right? (Great, now I'm worried about that.)