Several years ago I took my kids to New Haven with my friend Angie and her kids. We were doing train rides with Santa. Well we were in the back of the caboose with our kids and there was another kid that had to sit in our area because the rest was filled. This boy was about 9-10 years old, not too little to sit by himself.

He’s sitting across from Angie and I notice he has a train on his jacket. And I say, “Oh look at his coat it has a train how cute.” Angie tells me it was for Purdue. I replied I sure as heck didn’t know that because I don’t watch sports. Suddenly this kid says “You’re crazy.” I tell him that’s not a nice thing to say. So he says it again “You’re crazy.” I ignore the little fucker.

Then Conrad, who was 4 at the time, stands up and points at me and says “Mommy you’re crazy.” I tell him it’s not nice to call his mommy crazy. So this little brat sitting across from me says it again “You’re crazy.” He’s not being quiet either; I think the whole train car heard him. So then my older son, being the smartass he is, starts called me crazy too. I have three kids all pointing their fingers at me chanting “You’re crazy! You’re crazy! You’re crazy!”

Angie is just laughing and laughing. I’m trying to diffuse the situation and make it a joke, “They’re young yet know me so well.” It’s not like I could say what I really wanted to.  I wanted to grab the little brat sitting across from me and toss him off the train. I wanted to act like a child and tell him he was crazy and ugly and his mommy didn’t love him. Dang brat. but I kept my mouth shut and felt like I was in Salem at a witch hunt where all the villagers stand around the accused witch pointing and chanting “WITCH WITCH WITCH” until they strung her up or burned her at the stake. And to think my children were part of it. Hate kids.

Then I’ll be damned another kid called me crazy just a few months ago. I went to a friend’s house to hang out with her, her boyfriend and their kids. I’d never met his kid before so I hardly talked to him. I’m sitting there talking away, like usual, and this kid pipes up, “You’re crazy.” I laughed and asked if he just called me crazy. He again replied that I was crazy. So obviously I can’t go anywhere without a kid telling me like it is. Now I do realize I might be a little out there, and even a little crazy. But dammit, I don’t need reminded of it. And people wonder why I can’t stand kids.