My peers and I seem to have become a generation of crazy people.
We’re keeping it together with spit and paper clips, trying real hard to smile and wave while we bring home the bacon, fry it up and clean the kitchen up afterward. While we clean and fold the underwear, write out the birthday greetings, wrap the holiday presents, sign the report cards, drive to the dance lessons and hand over yet another donation to Kids Inc. While pushing the papers, pushing the envelope and trying to find even five minutes for a conversation with our spouses that doesn’t take place via text message.
Just within the last hour a childhood friend posted this Facebook status: “I think I lost my mind today. Wait maybe it was already gone.”
Amen, sister, amen.
I have spoken those very same words at least a dozen times — just since yesterday.
How did we get here? Why do we do it all? How do we make the madness stop?
What kind of emotional legacy are we leaving our kids?
When I was a kid, I thought it was strange that at regular intervals, my mother would brew a cup of tea, settle in to a chair at the kitchen table and whisper aloud to herself for what seemed like a very long time.
I get it now, though: Even way back then, she was yet another mother losing her mind.