Here's how it goes … at 3, my kids won trophies for soccer, which I assure you were not deserved. How do I know? Um, there were times my daughter would stop kicking the ball to chase a dragon fly. And, I could be wrong, but I don't think my son was bending it like Beckham when he would pick up the ball with his hands and throw it to a friend mid-game.  I know, it wasn't about them deserving their awards … they all get trophies -- because that's what we do to our millennial children, we make them think that they're the best at everything.  We praise them constantly and tell them everyone is a winner, leaving them little motivation, and little idea of what the real world is like.

In my recent post about decoding Momisms, I realized that not only have I officially become a mother, I may have officially become MY mother. Not that she was bad, she was and is wonderful, but she spoke a language of cliche "parentese" that I swore would never pass my lips.

No, I would never say, "Because I said so," as I intended to have long conversations with my brilliant offspring in which I would explain my decision and discuss my reasoning ad nauseum.

I mean, they deserved to be talked to like adults, right? No quickie threats or illogical arguments? Well, at least that's what I assumed when I was one of them. Now, I realize those phrases were uttered to stop from having conversations (ad nauseum) about EVERY LITTLE THING or because they were simply quick, to the point, and preserved sanity.

Here's a list of those things we swore we never say (but do):

Today, my new neighbor came by looking for my hubby.

"He's sleeping," I told him.

"Oh, well. Would you mind sending him by when he wakes up? I just had a quick question," he said as he walked off.

"Do you need to know how to spell something? Because then it'd be worth waiting for him to wake up," I replied. "Otherwise, I may be able to help."

While writing recent pieces about how you know if you're the mom of a boy or the mom of a girl, I realized there are so many indicators that separate us moms (in general) from everyone else on Earth. So here it is: You know you're a mom if ...

1.  You haven't heard your actual name the entire day, but you've been beckoned relentlessly.

2.  You've ever sang The Wheels on The Bus with the same enthusiasm you once sang I Will Survive.

3.  Lying is always an option as in ... "I'm sorry, the game store is closed on Sunday." "I love the outfit you put together yourself." "Yes, you do sound like Beyonce when you sing." and "No, they don't give ketchup at the drive-thru."

4.  You have a stain on your clothing that you would have to taste to place.  What is that latte or spit up? One sec… Hmmm... Oh, it's spit up.

I recently read a sentimental piece about the 30 things every woman should have and know by 30. Shockingly, I could check many of those items off my to-do list. What's more shocking is that I'm not 30 anymore, not even close.

A whole decade has passed. Where did it go? An amazing husband, multiple careers, a recession, two incredible children, and the blink of an eye later, I'm 40. There are many subtle yet life-changing differences a decade makes, which is why in my attempt to embrace existence (numberically speaking), I wrote this list. (This may not be as sentimental as its predecessor, but hey, I'm a humor columnist.)

By 40, you should have …

Here's the progression of pretty much every Take Your Child to Work Day:

1. Wake up brimming with excitement to see the magical things you or your spouse does.

2. Watch the magic happen for like 10 minutes, when they realize your job is boring as shit and they vow to NEVER grow up -- and if they must, they will do something exciting like race cars or be famous. (*If you're already famous, they'll think your job sucks too and vow to be something totally amazing like the check-out person at the grocery store who gets to swipe things over the cool scanner.)

3. Spin in your office chair for 30-60 minutes because that's awesome and clearly the real magic of your job. They will then question why you don't spend more time spinning and make a mental note that you'd probably do better in your job if you spun more.

"High five for mommy! 104! I haven't weighed that since I saw Pearl Jam," exclaimed the svelte adorable mom to her toddler who cheered along from her perch in the supermarket cart. I stood behind her waiting to weigh myself and watched her triumphant moment, which may have caused me to throw up in my mouth. Did I really witness that? Are we not more evolved? I found the scene so upsetting on so many levels. Was it the fact that this fit little chick weighed 104, a number I haven't seen since since I saw The Bangles? Or the awareness that this little girl was receiving a message that could change or define how she sees herself in years to come?

Of course, this immediately led me to that introspective place all moms go:

Last week on a road trip to Disney, I was digging through the contents of the arm rest compartment for some tissues when I realized the old maxi pad that had somehow gotten stuck to my hand would have to do the trick. Plus it had wings, which made for an easy clean-up.

I looked at my mother and said, "We need to invent some kind of portable tool that has all the necessary mommy accoutrements to tackle any parenting task."

Because this was a long road trip and we were two slap-happy adults listening to a Bratz movie for the fourth time, we made a list of all the things said contraption would need.

So here are the fruits of our brainstorm. I give you ... the Swiss Mommy Knife.