Alone with me in the car, my 7-year-old daughter had a confession to make.  "Sometimes I think my brother is Mr. Grumpy Pants," she said.   "I think you're right," I told her. "Sometimes he is Mr. Grumpy Pants. And you know what? I think he gets that from me."  My sweet girl was quick to point out that I am never a Grumpy Pants, and I am in fact the Best Mom in the Whole Entire World.  While I deeply appreciate her adoration, it's come to my attention that after nearly a decade of parenting, I am less patient, more tired, more prone to raising my voice, and moodier than I was before having children. Motherhood has made a lot of my bad qualities worse.  Unfortunately, I think my son has inherited almost all of those bad qualities.  Some days being his mother is as unpleasant as listening to a recording of my own voice set on repeat. The same parts of myself that I get sick of, I also have to manage in him. I know where it comes from, but that doesn&