I am a very prolific player of the Markets. Not the stock kind, I’m talking about the one all moms are familiar with, the Guilt Market. I don’t want to brag, but in my 17 years of motherhood, 10 as the mom of three, I have developed a prowess for picking value and finding fault in my parenting that rivals anything Warren Buffett can do.

Name a sector, Food, Discipline, Education, and I can rattle off five mistakes I made today alone. The fact that just like the stock exchange, the guilt market has a contingency of analysts and specialists who are only more than willing to weigh in and give me their opinions on my portfolio (i.e. my kids) doesn’t help. But the truth is, I will always be the biggest investor in my guilt fund.

As a mom blogger, I have been willing to share a lot of my investment mistakes with you Though I must confess, there is one that I have been practicing for about a year now that I have been too embarrassed to write about.

Until now.

Weekday mornings are insane in my house. My husband and high school junior compete to see who will be out of the house before 7:00 am. My husband has to catch his train; my son the school bus. Then I have to tend to my fifth grader and seventh grader. By 7:45 all my chicks have left the nest for a day of work and learning. To help everyone achieve this feat on time and with everything they need, I get up around 5:00 am each day. Once Saturday rolls around, Joe and I relish the chance to sleep a bit longer. Our 10-year-old has never seen the benefit of this and frequently wakes up with requests for breakfast.

I always make sure to keep the fridge and cabinets stocked with cereal and other easy breakfast foods that he can get for himself to give us an extra hour or two in bed. One morning Peter decided these choices were “boring” and thought it would be a great idea if he continuously knocked on our bedroom door to not only let us know this fact but to also discuss his menu options. After rejecting every suggestion that I sleepily croaked out he came up with a brilliant idea.

“Mom, what about ice cream? Can I have some of that for breakfast?”

Please let me remind you that I was exhausted. And half asleep. “Sure, why not.” And I went right back to bed.

This made Peter shout with joy and sing my praises for all to hear.

“Kathy, did you just tell Peter he could have ice cream for breakfast?”

“I don’t know Joe, I’m sleeping. I might have.”

“Oh well. He seems happy.”

Then we both laughed and tried to get some sleep.

And that is how ice cream became the breakfast of choice on weekends.

Now you know my secret. I hope we can still be friends.

You can check out more of Kathy's pieces over at her site, My Dishwasher's Possessed!