Of the many toys buried betwixt and between my sofa cushions, there is one that has recently been screaming "Geronimo!!!" every time I rise from my seat to, invariably, rescue my youngest from his latest misadventure. I find that apropos since parenting lately seems very much like jumping out of an airplane...without a parachute.
You would think with 6+ years of parenting experience under my belt that this would all be old hat to me by now. I should wear my white hairs and the lines of experience on my face like well earned battle scars. But no. Perhaps it's chronic sleep deprivation that has turned my mind to mush and causes me to pause and wrack my brain trying to remember just what the best thing to do is in any of the myriad scenarios that plays out each day.
And yet, I find myself not the least bit tempted to attend the free class Tyler's school is offering called "Parenting Children Ages 5-11". The flyer claims it can teach us to be just like the Super Nanny on TV.
I don't need that.
Well...maybe a little. But no.