It's Friday afternoon, and we're trying to leave the pool.  I know that when I walk into the house, a load of laundry is awaiting folding in the dryer.  The breakfast dishes are still in the sink.  I also need to swing by the dry cleaners, for the shirts have been ready since Tuesday.  Good thing Really Big Guy doesn’t need one until Monday.

Upon our arrival back home, I discover that the chicken I should have taken out of the freezer to defrost last night is still sitting on the second shelf, fallen victim to my absentmindedness. This would normally not be an issue, except that the microwave has been dead for eleven weeks, and I’ve been too lazy and too cheap to buy a new one.

This could be one of those days that I chalk up to being unorganized.  Getting up on the wrong side of the bed.  Just not having my stuff together.  But I know it’s bigger than that.

You see, the laundry has been in the dryer for two days.  But because the boys have been in bathing suits, I haven’t found the will to fold it. If I had just emptied the dishwasher in the morning, I would have been able to load in the dirty breakfast dishes. But I found it much more appealing to jump on my computer and do a little work, so I never got around to it. And the still frozen chicken? Well, there’s no explanation.  The same thing happened earlier in the week with the taco meat.

It appears I’ve become the slacker mom.

When spring finally sprung, my desire to be the in-control, one-step-ahead, on-top-of-everything mother blew away with the warm breeze. Although I initially blamed my slacker ways on spring fever, weeks later with summer in full gear, I’m getting used to mothering on the fly.  

Of course, it’s only fitting that a slacker mom would be raising slacker children. This roll-with- it attitude has carried over to them.  

When school was in, my delay in getting dinner on the table at a reasonable, dinner time hour resulted in Big Guy and Little Guy staying out in the cul-de-sac until the sun was near setting.  Upon calling them in, procrastination ruled.

The desire to shower was lost amongst the couch calling their names as they got sucked into playoff hockey games, staying up much later than they should have. They became reality TV junkies, craving their fixes of American Idol, Dancing With the Stars, Super Nanny and Wife Swap.  You know it’s bad when Little Guy declares his only criteria for finding a wife is that she doesn’t want to go on Wife Swap and that their kids won’t need Jo to come and visit.

As the summer kicked in, schedules disappeared and so did the organization.  Segments of the day became indefinable, as we each began to float around with our own agendas.  But instead of it being chaotic, it was calm.  Even now, there’s no frantic craziness in the air.  But there are fewer fights.  Hardly any yelling. And everyone is happier.

Except for Really Big Guy.

Don’t misunderstand. He loves the peace.  The quiet. A late afternoon that turns into night at the pool with the kids. But he doesn’t appreciate our slacker ways. He still has to get up and go to the real world every morning. Five days a week.  And he’s a fan of sitting down to dinner.  With food that is not only thawed but cooked.

So I fear that things are going to have to change around here.  I’ll have to actually come up with a plan.  Reconnect with my former self.  The one I know is hiding right under the surface, waiting to be called up to take control. And once I get back into my groove, I’ll be OK.

As long as we can still watch Wipeout and have cereal on hand for dinner.  Just in case I have a relapse. After all, it’s summer.  Getting off track is what it’s all about.

Illyse appears Thursdays on TriangleMom2Mom.