There’s a reason I chose the name “Three Star Mom.”

A few years ago, my kids went through a phase where they rated everything. The feel of their pajamas. Story time. Meals. Activities. Outings. Songs. Nothing was safe from a review.

One day, I asked them, “How would you rate me as a mom?”

Mars immediately said, “Three stars,” and then launched into a very detailed explanation.

I asked because I genuinely wanted to know. I was open to critique and recommendations for improvement. I had this idea that if my kids saw me actively working on bettering myself, it would be healthy for them. I wanted them to know that I understood I wasn’t perfect, and that being imperfect is okay. There’s always room to grow as a person. That feeling seems constant in parenthood.

I continued to ask for their reviews here and there, mostly out of curiosity, partly as a check-in. I never expected to achieve five stars in their eyes. There will always be things I “make” them do that they don’t enjoy. That’s part of the “job”. lol

There was one time I made it to five stars, but we were in Disney World, so I don’t think that counts.

Most of the time I hovered around three or four stars, with the occasional one-star review on particularly rough days. I remember one argument Mars and I had where she gave me zero stars and stormed off. I don’t even remember what we were fighting about, just that she didn’t like or agree with my answer.

This is real life.

I can’t be five stars every day because I’m human. I’m not perfect. And this is my first time doing this whole parent and adult thing. I’m okay with that because it takes off so much pressure. That doesn’t mean I don’t strive to be the best parent and adult I can be.

It takes growth and self-awareness to be okay with not being perfect. Acknowledging that we will fail does not come naturally. I still struggle with it.

I tend to overthink situations or go in with an expectation of how something should go, and when it doesn’t, I feel it. I still have emotions. I get upset, angry, sad, or overwhelmed. And sometimes, my kids get caught in the emotional crossfire.

My partner is good about giving me a break when he can, so I can reset emotionally. When that works, it helps. But I want to talk about what happens when I mess up. When I yell. When I get frustrated. Especially when it’s rooted in a misunderstanding.

An apology is in order.

I believe in apologizing to my kids. And I work hard to apologize without gaslighting.

What does that mean?

It is so easy to blame my kids for my emotions.

“Well, if you hadn’t done ___, I wouldn’t have reacted like that.”

But making them feel guilty for a mistake they made is shame-inducing. It shifts responsibility away from me and onto them. And that is a cycle I am trying desperately to break.

Parent guilt is a hard habit to unlearn. It is one I am still actively working on.

Our children are growing. Learning. Trying to figure out how the world works. They push boundaries. They test limits. They stretch their wings to see how far they can go.

They are going to make mistakes, because that is how humans learn.

And when you add FASD and ADHD or other needs into the mix, there is another layer of complexity that deserves patience, curiosity, and compassion.

I won’t always get it right. But I can model what repair looks like.

What matters most isn’t being perfect. It’s what we do after things go wrong. Kids don’t need parents who never mess up. They need parents who notice when something didn’t land right and are willing to take responsibility for it.

That means owning my reactions without excuses.

That means apologizing without conditions.

That means separating my emotions from my child’s behavior.

A real apology sounds like:

“I’m sorry I raised my voice.”

“I was frustrated, and I handled it poorly.”

“You didn’t deserve that.”

No “but.”

No justification.

No shifting blame.

The moment I add “but you…” to an apology, it stops being an apology. What’s left is guilt. And guilt teaches kids to shut down, to second-guess their feelings, and to believe connection depends on getting it right.

Our kids are still learning how their emotions work. Some of them are learning in bodies and brains that make regulation harder, slower, or more exhausting. Impulse control, frustration tolerance, and emotional processing don’t come easily. When I respond from my own overwhelm, I’m not teaching skills. I’m adding pressure to a system that’s already stretched thin.

Repair creates breathing room.

It tells our kids:

• You are safe with me, even when things are hard
• Big emotions don’t end relationships
• Mistakes don’t mean disconnection

It also teaches something powerful. How to take responsibility without shame. How to say sorry without fear. How to trust that relationships can bend without breaking.

Apologizing to our kids doesn’t make us weaker. It doesn’t erase boundaries or expectations. It doesn’t mean we stop saying no or lower the bar. It means we hold limits without layering shame on top.

I still set boundaries.

I still make decisions they don’t like.

I still have hard days.

And sometimes, I still lose my cool.

When that happens, I come back. I repair. I name what I wish I’d done differently. And then we move forward together.

That’s what parenting looks like in real life. Messy. Imperfect. Human.

Maybe that’s not five-star parenting.

But it’s honest.

It’s connected.

And it leaves room to grow.

Three stars feels just right.