It's True, I Am Crazy and So Are You

Author's note: Most of my writing is Faction. Part fiction. Part fact. I leave to you to figure out which is which. If I've insulted anyone, that part was definitely fiction.

I am crazy. It’s true. And I just have to come to terms with the fact. I know I am crazy for two reasons. First, I am a mother. And second, everyone else I know is crazy.

If you are a mother, like me you have probably been fighting the battle between sanity and insanity for years. But I lost that battle the day I reached in my coat pocket to get my gloves and pulled out a magic wand.

I was walking from my office to my car and chatting with my co-worker. When I reached into my pocket for my gloves, I found the wand instead. It was a pink plastic stick with silver beads on the stem and a star on the top.

I wasn’t crazy because I found a magic wand in my pocket. I was crazy because the idea of a magic wand being in my pocket did not even phase me.

My co-worker laughed nervously, like he was afraid I would turn him into a frog. When he said “On your way to the fairy godmother convention?”, I realized something out of the ordinary had happened. I didn’t say anything, but a magic wand is by far NOT the strangest thing I have found in my coat pocket while leaving the office.

One time last month when I reached in to get my keys I found Beth’s left shoe. That immediately raised the question “If I have Beth’s left shoe in my pocket, what is Beth wearing on her left foot?” The answer, of course, was her brother’s bedroom slipper.

Then there was the diaper incident. I was in a restaurant during my lunch hour and had draped my coat over the empty chair to my right. After I ate and paid the bill I stood up and started to pull on my coat.

As I struggled with my zipper, an elderly man at the table next to me reached down and picked something up from the floor. A moment later he handed it to me with a puzzled look saying “Is this your diaper, ma’am.” The oddest thing about that incident is that it wasn’t the first time it had happened. (No, it was not a dirty diaper...in case you were wondering.)

So while a magic wand protruding from one’s pocket might seem odd to most people, in my world it was just another day at the office. And that fact alone confirms that I am crazy.

The second reason I know I am crazy is because every other person I know is also crazy. If you are reading this blog, there is a good chance that you are either my mother, a relative, one of my friends or someone who I believe is my friend even if you really are not. And I know you are thinking to yourself “But you know me and I’m not crazy.”

Sadly, you are wrong. Because the reality is that either I don't know you or...you are crazy. And even if I don't know you, I am not giving you the benefit of your sanity. As far as I'm concerned you're guilty until proven innocent.

For a long time I believed everyone was normal and I was odd. Then for a while, I thought I was normal and the rest of the world was weird. But slowly over time I’ve come to realize that both are correct - I am odd and everyone else is weird.

If you shake my family tree, a whole bunch of nuts will fall out. Like my parents; they're crazy. No offense, please, Mom and Dad. I love you. But it’s true.

My mother, for example, likes to count things. Cotton balls, dishes, blades of grass. Whatever. One time while she was visiting me she informed me that there were forty three stained glass windows at my church. “How do you know this?” I asked. “I counted.” She said. I didn’t ask her why she counted. I knew the answer. It’s because she is crazy.

My Dad still acts like long distance phone rates will cost you an arm and leg. So when I call my Dad, he is always rushing to get off so he doesn’t run up my bill. “It’s the cell phone”, I tell him. “I have unlimited calling on weekends.” But the next time I call it's the same routine. He doesn't get it. Why? Because he is crazy.

My sisters are crazy. The older one won't enter a public restroom. EVER. One time she “held it” for a 17 hour car drive from North Carolina to Illinois rather than enter a roadside facility. But why did she do it? Because she is crazy.

The younger one has a wardrobe that would put Imelda Marcos to shame. She has clothes from every decade of her life. Why does she stuff her closet with ten thousand outfits, many of which which she would not be caught dead wearing? It's because she is crazy.

It’s not just my family. My friends are crazy too. I have one friend who is a neat freak and another who is a germ-a-phobe. I have friends and relations who are obsessive to the point of insanity about their cars, their cats, their dogs, their lizards, their snakes, their motorcycles, their shoes, their booze, their boobs and their hair.

The people I meet are off the scale conservative or beyond the pale liberal. They all think they are moderates. None of them are.

But they are all crazy. In fact most people I know or have met are just one tin foil hat and an Elvis sighting away from a summer vacation in Roswell, New Mexico.

And there aren’t enough terabytes on the Internet for me to scratch the surface of my spouse’s insanity.

So I have accepted the fact that I am crazy. And it’s time for you to accept the fact that, by virtue of my knowing you, you are crazy too. But it’s OK. Because I have also discovered that being crazy is a very normal thing to be.

(P.S. The photo accompanying this blog? Its an odd duck, of course.)