Don’t Report Us To Social Services . . . Their File On Us Is Already Full.
I’m pondering today. Could it be that Greg and I have been a little too lackadaisical in some of our parenting responsibilities?
Greg and I are opposites in almost every way. I don’t mean the “potato with a long A” versus the “potato with an Ah” opposite. I’m talking about Mars vs. Venus, action vs. reaction, sensitive drama vs. stupid comedy kind of opposite.
However, one of the few things we have in common is our philosophy about safeguarding our kids. I like to think that we have a relaxed, untroubled approach. Social Services might call it apathetic. Or, they might call it irresponsible with a fair to middlin’ amount of negligence thrown in on bad days.
Statistics say that most kids in the United States live through childhood. We figure ours will. Broken bones mend and scabs heal . . . except the ones that Micah compulsively scratched till they got infected. We convinced him to stop by pouring isopropyl alcohol directly in the wounds. Problem solved.
We’re also pretty laid-back about protecting our kids from weather disturbances. A good tempest doesn’t toss us around too much. During the worst of a wind storm, other parents will scramble to get their children safely to the basement. Our biggest spring for safety will happen when Greg slowly raises his head from the bed that sits on the top floor of the house that sits on the highest hill around and ask, “Did you just feel the house move?”
In most instances, the house hasn’t moved so neither do we.
We don’t tend to hustle our kids to a safe place away from a storm. Why would we make them fight over who gets the most leg room in the tub when they could stand on the front porch with Greg and me and let the wind blow their shirts off, or run barefoot in the rain, or jump on the trampoline in their underwear.
(OK. Maybe letting them play on the trampoline in a thunderstorm could be classified as a middlin’ amount of negligence considering that the last two houses that sat on our hill burned after being struck by lightning. But, you’ve got to admit, a little lightning strike could meld those kids together like no other sibling bond.)
The problem with our philosophy seems to be that our kids have taken lackadaisical and turned it into lunacy. When Murray had a bad storm last year, Micah called to tell us how “awesome” it was.
How did he know? Because he was standing outside in 100 mph winds watching trash cans blow through the air and crack car windshields.