Bi-Monthly Meltdown

It's like clockwork. One minute I'm going about my business, working around the house or playing with the kids and the next I'm frantically running from room-to-room, digging through drawers, pulling out couch cushions, and talking to myself like a crackhead. I've just remembered the library books are due and I don't have the slightest idea where they are.

How does this happen, EVERY TIME? Am I really that unorganized around here? I have literally torn the house apart, the kids' rooms are in shambles, and still, no books. My heart is pounding through my chest. I'm a bundle of nerves. It's that junior high I can't-find-my-homework feeling all over again except this time I'm an adult and I should know better and the librarians look like they want to hurt me and have mustaches and are wheeling in a dollie to hold the mountain of late fees piling up in front of me.

I can't help but wonder, did I miss something here? Was there a library orientation I forgot to sign up for? Or a handout titled, "The Idiot's Guide to Keeping Track of Your Books" that I didn't pick up?

Jennifer calls me while I'm flinging everything out of Lil' Miss's closet. "You do know what the librarians are going to say, don't you? The same thing they always tell me. 'Keep 'em in a bag!'" Well now, that's pure GENIUS! I wish I'd thought of that! And yeah, it'd make perfect sense if I didn't have a two-year-old who strictly adheres to the Toddler Ten Commandments, one of which states, "Thou shalt dump out all bags and scatter their contents like the wind." This comes right after, "Thou shalt stand up and pee on your sister's head when taking a bath."

While all this psycho searching and ranting is going on, the kids continue to do whatever it is they're doing, completely unfazed by the crazy lady who's running around the house screaming, "Where could they be? WHERE COULD THEY BE!!!" They don't even so much as lift an eye in my direction. They may have seen this once or twice before. Later, as they pick through the upheavel, the mounds of messes left in my wake, they'll thank me for finding the beloved Barbie lost under their bed or that truck wedged behind the chair. I have found everything that has gone MIA in the last couple of weeks, everything except for those blasted books.

Eventually though, Lil' Miss who is busy putting together a puzzle, will catch on that I'm having one of those meltdowns again (the rocking and thumb sucking in the corner usually give it away). She graciously steps in. "Mom, they're in Baby Dude's room!"

I head towards his room, a room I have already checked like eight thousand times, but, whatever. I'll humor the kid. A few minutes later, I yell out in an almost sing-songy voice, "Nope! Not in here!"

"Yeah! They are!" she sings back.

"I don't know how! I've looked everywhere!"

"Check the closet shelves!"

I do and they're right in front of me. Right there, the whole bloody time. I trudge into the kitchen where Lil' Miss is still busy with that puzzle at the kitchen table. I humbly thank her and she gives me one of her silent, closed-mouth head nods like she's the Holy Roman Pope. I'm left standing there, thinking about what a shame it is that in a couple of weeks I'll forget how she's the one who always finds them, how she always knows where they are. I'll be too busy with my crazy house ransacking to remember.