Is it the wind or am I crazy?

I think my children are allergic to the wind because whenever it blows, they turn inside-out and do back flips on my couch. The whoosh of air blowing across their faces is worse than a triple latte at midnight. Their voices become high pitched and “drunk” with energy-- loud, fast and unending. Nothing shuts them up. They just chatter, chatter, chatter about important stuff like about the benefits of having bangs or why they prefer light pink to dark pink.

During such windy conditions, they can do nothing slowly (except homework-- the wind is no cure for the homework blues. It just makes them more restless and resentful of the learning tradition.). It’s as if their little bodies are stuck on fast forward and they’ve all got ants running up their pants.

Yes, dear readers, lately I too have felt a tinge nutty-- that’s why I’ve felt compelled to discuss Old Mother Wind and her Merry Little Breezes, and I don’t mean the books by Thornton Burgess, I mean my children.

But no, I feel nuts, and maybe it’s the wind and maybe it’s not.

A few months ago a dear friend of mine said I was headed for a midlife crisis.
I thought he was nuts for saying such a rotten thing. Can’t he do the math? I’m only 34 (ouch it does hurt to write that figure).
However this wind thing has gotten me to start reconsidering his statement.

Ever since I returned from the summer-long road trip, I have felt restless. All I have wanted to do is pack up my stuff and take to the road. The compulsion to just follow the white and yellow lines down the highway is as strong as the wind blowing my kids toward my new couch.

My tolerance for kid fighting, messy bedrooms and homework hassles was left somewhere along the side of the road, so what gives?

Perhaps some of my more experienced readers know what I’m talking about.

I think we all reach a point in our lives where we have finally had it and just stop in our tracks and say enough is enough. It’s like I’m sitting with the scale of my life resting upon my lap and I think is this the way I want to live it-- with years and years of kid fighting, messy bedrooms and no gratitude?

I gave up a career, school and a bazillion hobbies to be a mother. Motherhood is supposed to be this amazing, fulfilling endeavor-- and it is, but it doesn’t mean that mothers are always happy.

I’d be lying if I said the roses always bloomed in my garden, and I’d be lying if I said being a mom is always peachy. It’s not. Sometimes it’s downright rotten.

There are good points to motherhood. I would never want to let anyone think I’d forgotten about oatmeal kisses, handprints, hugs and Santa Claus.

It’s just that sometimes it’s really hard to focus on those thousand points of kidly light while you are throwing away a pot of spaghetti you slaved over all evening only to hear, “It’ yucky” or “It tastes weird” or “When is dad coming home?”

Motherhood is a thankless job, that’s what some people say, but I don’t entirely agree because my kids do say thank you-- sometimes. Kisses are never in short supply nor are kid cards. My lap is the most sought after seat in the house. Civil wars have been fought over every square inch.

But sometimes it is a lonely job because there are times in my motherly career when I swear no one is listening. How many times do I have to say, “It’s time to get up,” “Do your homework,” Clean your room . . .”-- before I see some action. The monotony of motherhood can make you nuts. It’s worse than working in a assembly line. But the variety can make you crazier. Nothing surprises me. How my daughter managed to color on her ceiling is still a mystery. How can kids walk across hot pavement and gravel roads and not hurt their feet?

I don’t know maybe it’s the wind that has blurred the good things-- but just for a moment-- because I know I would never pack up and take off-- but this doesn’t mean I don’t think about it as I am refereeing yet another fight over the admittance into each of my children’s made up “kid clubs.”

The wind will die down. My husband will return from the wind-caused fires in San Diego and motherhood won’t be so lonely-- and crazy.

And so as I put on a grin and muddle through the monotony and variety of life, I’ll try to remember kids will be kids. They can’t help it.

I might as well ask the wind to stop blowing.