The Reason for my Insanity

You ever meet someone who seems normal at first glance, but the more you talk to them the more you realize that there is something just not right? Their laughter is tinged with that slight edge of hysteria and you realize they're walking that tightrope of "almost insane, but not quite". This, in my opinion, describes all stay-at-home mothers of small children. Especially if everyone else in the house happens to have a Y chromosome. We're all just one attempted egg-juggling on the carpet away from the looney bin.

You ever wonder why?

I can tell you why. Because little kids - little BOYS especially - are specifically calibrated to drive their mothers insane. It's their sole purpose in life. I think they get an award if they accomplish it before they turn 5. My almost 5 year-old Aiden is on the downhill slope, so he's working overtime. We had this conversation last night.

Me: "Aiden, where's the remote?"

Aiden: "The remote? I don't know."

Me: "You had it last, where did you put it?"

Aiden: "Where did I put what?"

Me: "The remote, Aiden. Where did you put it?"

Aiden: "OH, the remote. I can't remember."

Me: "Think. Where did you put it?"

Aiden: "I know! Someone sneaked in our house and was really quiet and took the remote to change the batteries."

Me: "Aiden. What did you do with it?"

Aiden: "Ummm...I put it...wait, what are you looking for?"

Deep breath. Deeeeeeep breath.

Me: "The. Remote. Control."

Aiden: "Oh right. The remote. I think I lost it."

Me: "You think you lost it?"

Aiden: "Yeah, I lost it in the couch. It fell down in the cushions and it's gone now. Sorry."

I search the cushions...ah! Success!

Me: "I found it."

Aiden: "Found what?"


Almost exactly six years ago, I was lying on a beach in Mallorca, Spain. I was sipping some alcoholic concoction I couldn't pronounce, with Mediterranean breezes softly blowing around me. It was quiet. The sun was warm on my face. I had a book. It was QUIET. This is why I'm almost insane. I went from sunbathing in the Mediterranean and hiking up to the Parthenon and drinking wine in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower to looking my son in the face and wondering if he's had a brain transplant with Dory from Finding Nemo. And just the fact that the first thing I thought of was a cartoon character from a Disney movie proves just how far gone I am.

So the next time you see some poor, harried mother in Target or Panera Bread with small children in tow and a look on her face that says she's got one foot over the edge, be nice. Don't think to yourself, "geez, would it KILL her to put on some make-up?" because she used to be a person, too.

I'm hoping that eventually my sanity will return. I refuse to believe that it's gone for good, but rather that it's taking an extended vacation. It took one look at my kids and decided to get the hell out of dodge, but it'll be back. Probably when my kids get married and have kids of their own. Then I'll be able to laugh along with MY mother at the great karmic wonderfulness of the universe.