Sometimes I just let my children fall asleep in front of the TV.

In a culture that idealizes motherhood, it's scary to confess that, in your house, being a mother is beautiful and dirty and joyful and frustrating all at once. Admitting that it's not easy doesn't make you a bad mom; at least, it shouldn't.

If I can't survive my daughter as a toddler, how the hell am I going to get through the teenage years?

When Jill Smokler was first home with her small children, she thought her blog would be something to keep friends and family updated. To her surprise, she hit a chord in the hearts of mothers everywhere.

I end up doing my son's homework. It's wrong, but so much easier.

Total strangers were contributing their views on that strange reality called motherhood. As other women shared their stories, Jill realized she wasn't alone in her feelings of exhaustion and imperfection.

My eighteen month old still can't say "Mommy" but used the word "shit" in perfect context.

But she sensed her readers were still holding back, so decided to start an anonymous confessional, a place where real moms could leave their most honest thoughts without fearing condemnation.

I pretend to be happy but I cry every night in the shower.

The reactions were amazing: some sad, some pee-in-your-pants funny, some brutally honest. But they were real, not a commercial glamorization.

I clock out of motherhood at 8 P.M. and hide in the basement with my laptop and a beer.

If you're already a fan, lock the bathroom door on your whining kids, run a bubble bath, and settle in. If you've not encountered Scary Mommy before, break out a glass of champagne as well, because you'll be toasting your initiation into a select club.

I know why some animals eat their young.