Je suis crazy


I quit taking French lessons a few weeks ago, mostly because I found myself writing very large checks, and then forgetting to show up to my class. There is nothing more embarrassing than congratulating yourself on all the “extra” time you found on a Thursday morning, only to receive a phone call asking why your instructor is sitting alone at a table with only her Le Francais essentiel and no sign of her student.

It’s also embarrassing for the piano teacher to call you as you sit applying  lipstick in the grocery store parking lot, an hour after the piano lesson was scheduled, asking politely “Umm, so I guess you’re not coming?”. It’s even more embarrassing to arrive at school to collect your daughter, only to be informed by a fellow nine-year old that your kid is at running club this afternoon. Duh. The only thing that made me feel remotely better about the latter situation was the little girl’s response, “Oh, don’t worry. My Dad does this kind of stuff all the time.” Knowing I’m not the only half-baked human-being responsible for raising little people makes me feel better. Sort of.

I don’t know when this slow slide into middle-aged, scheduling-induced dementia began, but I don’t see it resolving anytime soon. I guess we should all be grateful I don’t practice as a nurse anymore. Who knows what kind of medical high-jinks I might engage in, or more likely, forget to do altogether. My steadfast commitment to remaining a kept woman is really an effort to protect the world at large from my particular brand of crazy. For which the medical community thanks me.


  • I love this! And so do all of the mothers of the universe!
    My oldest came out an independent man; he is so used to my absentmindedness
    that he just knows to take care of himself. My youngest, on the other hand, who
    is still holding on to the umbilical cord, resorts to constant reminders. “Mom, don’t forget to pick me up,” “mom, don’t forget to bring my lunch,” (not because he forgot it, but because there was nothing for him to take). And my personal favorite: “mom, if you buy my birthday
    gift today, it will actually get here in time.”

    They can’t complain. The degeneration began the day they were born.

  • Kelly Hausknecht Chripczuk

    That’s the land I live in, half-crazed, deeply confused, and more than a little lost. On the bright side, it’s full of surprises!

  • You just need a digital assistant to fill in the gaps and nudge you when it’s time to go. I recommend Google Calendar. It’s accessible. It’s free. You can set up the alerts on your desktop and phone that pop up with a reminder (set it with enough time to allow travel time). The alert goes off and you glance at your phone and go, “Zut alors! I’ve got to get to FRENCH!” Then you leave your steaming coffee mug on the table and scramble to pull on something decent, tear out the door and drive like a madwoman to meet Madame Essentiel. Then all you have to say is, “Desole, je suis en peu en retard…”

    I swear Google Calendar has saved my reputation many times.