Coming or going?

"Can I take this string to school? I need thumb tacks. I'm actually willing to miss the first bell if we can stop for thumbtacks." (Me staring blankly as I smear peanut butter on bread).

I cruise north on County Line after dropping off "do everything" and "love minecraft" who appears to be wearing size 5 pants at the age of 8. High waters are not a thing. Ugh.  My phone buzzes. Yes I endanger lives and glance at the popup. 

"I'm sick. I think I have food poisoning." 

I roll my eyes and tell Siri to send an email to Eden. 

"Diarreah or feel like you are going to puke?" 

And so it goes. I proceed to the Lexus dealer where we bought a used GM and waste two hours while they make deprecating references to the "Buick". Meanwhile Hazel consumes an entire sprite, a chocolate muffin and some mandarin oranges (Lexus dealerships offer munchies but we are like redhead step children with our certified used Buick Enclave). She and I read the only kids book in the place, a decimated children's dictionary and she announces that if we had a pet jellyfish it would be so cool. ( I stare blankly, a carefully cultivated expression that neither encourages nor condemns such nonsense). Redirect to Pinterest and the four year old is planning a five course lunch of things to cut into hearts for her Valentine's Day Party.

We go to lunch with Jenny, the aunt everyone wants who allows 4 year olds to paint her new kitchen pink. She's a veritable saint. No kidding. If I built a new house I would not set Hazel loose with a paint brush and a brimming paint jar of salmon pink but who am I to judge? 

I have a beer and laugh my way through lunch but I am beset with guilt over not buying thumb tacks or retrieving the "sick" child or sorting out all of the size 5 pants. Actually no guilt about the jellyfish... It's all there. Every day. Are we parenting enough or too much or right or wrong or just subpar? We tell stories and speculate about our own kids and other peoples kids and kids on the news but we have no idea. Then seemingly before our eyes they manifest into amazing people who make cupcakes for the Super Bowl or play a flute like an angel or build an igloo with a fire inside or dump a girl because they didn't like being a second choice and you see that they aren't programmable or predictable, they're people like the rest of us. Watching the story unfold and standing by with a fire extinguisher and a safety net is suddenly a shockingly small position to fill but I suppose there's thumbtacks and planners to buy, swimsuits to veto and love to dish out.