I've always had an irrational and bitter resentment toward good sleepers. You know who you are. You probably don't mean to brag, but you guys always do. You always do.

"I could sleep ANYWHERE," you say, casually. And, "I'm a mess without my ten hours of sleep." And you don't confine your annoying somnolence to nighttime. "I need a disco nap," you'll say, tucking your legs up, closing your eyes and falling asleep at will during broad daylight on some lumpy, scratchy couch without a single ritual or sleep aid or even a moment of doubt about your ability to greet The Sandman. Jackhammers, neighbor dogs barking, horns honking, doorbells ringing, nothing can rouse you from your REM delirium.

Meanwhile, I could be lying on a mattress made from homemade marshmallows and space-age polymers custom fitted to my firmness needs, my cheek on a silk pillowcase, with Sade and Kenny G perched on the edge of my bed to provide optimum easy listening -- while under the influence of a fistful of pharmaceutical sleep aids -- and still be wide awake even as a team of massage therapists kneaded the kinks from my shoulders.

Becoming a parent was to insomnia what a box of cupcakes and a gallon drum of Hershey's chocolate syrup is to diabetes. What can be managed under the best of circumstances is now a full-scale crisis that has been ignited by the sweet nectar of parenthood.

I really had a handle on it before I had a baby two years ago, and looking back, I have no idea what I had to toss and turn about back then. Seriously, any worries subordinate to "responsible for entire human life" seem pretty trivial to me now.

I don't believe in advice. My theory is that everybody has the answers right inside of her, since we're all made up of the same amount of God. So when a friend says, "I need some advice," I switch it to "I need some love," and I try to offer that. Offering love usually looks like being quiet, listening hard, and letting my friend talk until she discovers that she already has all the answers. Since I don't offer advice, Craig and I find it funny that people ask me for it every single day. Constantly. Craig once asked what I make of that and I told him that I think friends ask me for advice because they know I won't offer any. People really just need a safe place and some time to discover what they already know.

Recently a dear friend called during a very hard day. She had made a parenting mistake. A parenting mistake is doing something opposed to what you believe is best for your children. I have a friend who is very health conscious and would call four frozen pizzas for dinner a horrible mistake, while I just call it dinner. Parenting mistakes are different for each mama. So when a friend tells me she made a mistake, I don't measure it against my beliefs and say: OH PUH-LEASE. THAT'S NOT A MISTAKE. I'll TELL YOU WHAT A MISTAKE IS, MISSY. Competing about who's the worst is as much of a drag as competing about who's the best.

In this particular case, my friend had become tired and hopeless and spanked her child. She considered this a mistake, because she doesn't believe in spanking. Please, baby Jesus, let us not debate the spanking issue. It's a mistake for some and not for others. This particular friend, who is as precious as water in a desert, was devastated. She asked me for advice. I immediately switched that to a request for love.

Then I told her what I do when I make a big or little parenting mistake, which is several hundred times a day.

I try to remember two things:

1. Who I am, and...

2. My most important parenting job.

First, I remember that I am a human being. And human beings make mistakes, almost constantly. We fall short of what we aim for, always. We get impatient. We get angry. We get selfish. We get freaking sick and tired of playing pet store. That's okay. It's just the way it is. Can't change it. Will always forevermore be. I'm human. Can't fight it. An elephant's gotta be an elephant and people gotta be people.

Then I remember what my most important parenting job is. And that is to teach my children how to deal with being human. Because most likely, that's where they're headed. No matter what I do, they're headed toward being jacked-up humans faster than three brakeless railroad cars.

There is really only one way to deal gracefully with being a jacked-up human, and that is this: