Relax!

This weekend, a neighbor commented on what a relaxed parent I am.

"You're so laid back", she said, not for the first time.

I know her intentions were good, but I think what she really meant was, "Your house is a disaster. Your kids are running around in wet clothes. And barefoot. And throwing things at each other. And you're sitting on your patio, eating crabs and drinking beer."

Yeah. So?

 I was eating crabs and drinking beer. But I was also running after O, continually getting up to tell B to stop throwing things, and watching N on the swing set.

Her husband chimed in. "I couldn't believe how relaxed you were when B was dumping sand over O's head yesterday".

Well, it's sand, right? I mean, it's not like he was pouring gasoline over O's head. I try to stop him right away when it's something flammable.

So yeah, I guess I'm laid back.

I blame it on the children. They've left me no choice.

I don't think I was this laid back with one child. In fact, I was a little too focused on her, if that's possible.

Every fever over 100 had me calling the pediatrician.

When she smelled like syrup, I took her to the pediatrician. She was fine. And they laughed at me.

When I saw what I thought were worms, I took her to the pediatrician. They weren't worms. They were toasted coconut. They didn't laugh at me that time. Until I was walking out the door.

Then I had a second child. When he had a fever, I gave him Tylenol and prayed it would make him feel better. And then prayed even harder that it would make him sleep. I don't remember taking him to the pediatrician for anything other than his regular check ups.  But it's possible I had him there every week and just don't remember.

Then I had a third child.

I don't remember the last time he had a fever. Then again, I don't remember much of anything.
And I'm not sure I've ever taken his temperature.

It doesn't bother me if they go barefoot, because in order for them not to go barefoot, I would actually have to find their shoes. It doesn't bother me that their clothes are wet because I'd rather let them stay in those clothes than fight with them-repeatedly--to change. It is (almost) summer, after all.

 I walk instead of running when B is dumping sand over O's head  because, well, it's sand. And if O's not worrying about it, why should I?

And OK, in all honesty, my reflexes aren't what they used to be, given that I've averaged approximately twenty-seven minutes of sleep a night for the past seven years.

So maybe I am a relaxed and laid back parent.

Or maybe, at this point, I'm just brain dead.