The Nut House

This morning I woke up to confrontation around the coffee table culminating with Libby yelling, "Cash you are the meanest boy I ever knew!!" It may or may not have involved physical contact, but I never would have guessed that I would one day, four kids later, be totally able to just chuckle, roll over, and let it slide. Everyone seems to be getting really frustrated with everyone else these days.

Being the official diagnoser of the house, I have figured out what it is. It is the end of summer. We are all sick of having to be inside so much. It's frustrating and boring at times. And going outside leads to mosquitoes and sticky sweat which are just as bad as frustrating and boring. But hope is around the corner. In just a few short weeks we will be able to go outside and everything will change. I need a new season! Talking about the weather makes me feel old. I'm thirty-one now. Thirty didn't really bother me as much as 29 did. And 31. I have been compiling a list of things that make me feel old.

1. I can't stand to be within earshot of Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers.
2. Even though I own a few, I can't bring myself to use the word "hoodie." I can barely type it.
3. Hoodies are probably out now, but I still wear them all the time.
4. I referenced the Cosby Show when talking to some college students and I don't think they had really ever watched it. Realizing they were probably born in the mid-80's, I cringed.
5. I don't know how to "text" someone.
6. I forgot the rest of my reasons why I feel old, hence the reason I feel old.

Old, crazy, it's all new to me.

Speaking of crazy. I got brave and let the kids paint this morning and just a short while into it I asked Jimmy to take me to the nut house. I'm all for them getting dirty in the name of art but when Cash opens the lid and dumps black paint all over the table and onto the floor I just can't help the nut house comments. I usually try to make these comments just for Jimmy but today we had to explain what the "nut house" was. We said it was where crazy people went. (Which is a totally lame explanation, but when there's paint everywhere...) Libby got all worried that I was going away. Jackson explained that it was way far away, probably in New York City and that "Hey Mom, maybe you can go to Deal or No Deal while you're there! I'm sure it's like, right next door or something!" Meanwhile, Cash is in the timeout chair naked (he's potty training) for dumping the paint (he had already dumped the red and been warned) and I'm cleaning up the mess. Cash then yells "uh-oh" and he pees all over, and Libby says (looking worried) "Mom, I don't want you to go to the nut house!" I can assure you, Libby, I don't have to go to the nut house. I AM ALREADY LIVING THERE!

In an effort to dismantle the atomic bomb of "my house is crazy and I need to be committed" I just laid on you, and to end on a positive note, let me assure you: I would much rather live in this nut house of four kids and a nutty husband than anywhere else on the face of the earth. I love it all, I love them all, and all the insane stuff really only happens a small percentage of the time. The rest of the time is fun, funny, adorable, and full of love and laughter. Unfortunately, even if you're sane 90% of the time, if the other 10% of the time you're hallucinating and clawing your eyeballs out, you still have to be sent to the nut house. Or at least take medication. Can I get a glass of water with that?