Your definition of ‘a good party’ changes.
You open your purse and find…
A sock.
A lego.
A rainbow of bank-issued lollipops (2 of which have msyteriously shed their wrappers).
A diaper (Clean, geez)
And 400 “Your next pediatric appt. is:” cards.
Oh, and a disturbing lack of money 
You know you’re a parent when:
3 TV’s in your house are simultaneously playing The Cartoon Channel.
You curse the evil teacher under your breath as you cheerily help them with homework.
You start buying toilet paper, paper towels, and general cleaning supplies in bulk.
There’s a secret “lost teeth” box, wherein you place all the teeth the Tooth Fairy gave them ALL that money for, and despair for the eventual day they’ll know there is no Tooth Fairy.
You breathe a sigh of relief each morning when you see their happy/sleepy faces.
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You automatically reply “You’re ok” when you hear a child scream.
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The cool guy in the car next to you turns up his radio to avoid listening to your child’s sing-a-long cd.
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You still carry emergency wipes in your purse even though your children are out of diapers.
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Not only can you catch your child’s vomit, you can finish your meal afterwards.
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You have teacups and cars in your bathtub.
-Friends call to ask you to identify a rash.
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You learn not to show emotions. Kids pick up on it when Mommy makes a face over brocoli or when terror shows in her eyes over the latest booboo.
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When home alone you’ve found yourself talking to the Barbie that was left on the couch.
You say “Mmmhmmm” when somebody starts screaming that Big Sister or Big Brother is a MEAN MEAN MEANIE! as you continue to finish your final exams.
You hear loud thumps upstairs and hope it’s not a television.
You end all sibling arguments with, “I don’t CARE whose fault it is…Just STOP bickering!”
Letting your youngest of four (aged 9) make breakfast without wanting to assist…because you know that’s just going to cause a cry-fest.
You watch your youngest fly down the hill on a skateboard and are secretly relieved he lies down on it instead of standing up.
Your favorite words are, “Go to BED…NOW”…or, “That’s fine. You’re grounded.”
You come in in a rotten mood from work and your kids tell you they love you. Meaning, they DO love you but the Mom-Taxi is getting overtime for the day!
You know, by experience, that you better hit “skip track” when “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” comes on in the car (unless you like screaming fits).
When you buy a brand new king-sized bed (so the baby has enough room), and realize that it will probably be YEARS before you can actually have sex in it.
-lv
::Takes a peek at the sleeping child upstairs and notices the aforementioned “plumber’s crack”::
NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Engineering! Engineering! No plumbing!
Robin
Hmmm I have been a Mom for 14 years.
And I have to admit I don’t know some of these things.
-When your son goes in the woods looking for golfballs, then has them all over the house…including the bathtub.
-When you have stray lizard’s and frog’s around your house, no longer in the nice little homes you fixed for them. 
I know a few unemployed engineers but no unemployed plumbers…
And a skilled plumber can make oodles of $$
When the only night of the week you don’t have to be at a practice/lesson is Friday… and all you want to do that night is veg.
You get up before 7:00 on a Saturday and Sunday because one of them has a 9:00 game. ( this weekend we have 7 Basketball games 1 Soccer Scrimmage and a dance lesson)
For most small cuts in the mouth, about a teaspoon of sugar packed against the wound will stop the bleeding. True fact. Also soothes the kid a bit (ooh! I’m getting sugar).
Of course, if it’s a big cut/supergusher, the sugar won’t stop it. But the vast majority will be stopped.
I guess some kids would be up for the blood-for-sugar transaction, but most little kids I know are mega-freaked out when they’re leaking blood, even a little amount. “MOM I’M BLEEDING OH GOD I’M BLEEDING MOM HELP ME MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!”
Guaranteed to stop your heart completely.
If a kid came to me more than once a day for the sugar treatment, I’d look at them pretty closely. Third time, either the original cut needs stitches or the kid has gotten too fearless about blood. They’re not getting sugar the third time, but a huge lecture or more intense medical treatment.
Mrs. Furthur
You use baby wipes for EVERYTHING (on occasion, this will include “bathing” your child).
You hear yourself utter the phrase: “Sweety, we don’t put carrots in our shoes.”
After that one, I actually turned to my husband and said, “Well, I guess it’s official.”
— you buy a toy that DOESN’T have batteries, as opposed to the really cool nifty toy that can say 100 phrases, and shoot red and blue laser beams, and speed across the floor in 5 gears, and spin lights like a disco