Crazy

I had an interesting conversation today with one of my children, who shall remain anonymous to all but those who have met my children and/or have read this blog in the past.

(To really get into the story experience, picture the following: as we talk, said child is on her back on the bed busily kicking my hands, which are held out to catch her feet.)

Me: (Child), N and M say you were hitting them. (to readers: M is a friend)

Child: Yes, I was doing that.

Me: You know that hitting isn't allowed!

Child: But Mommy! I'm insane!

Me: Uh-oh. Why did you go insane?

Child: Because it wasn't fun being not insane.

***

We eventually reached a compromise: she could stay insane, but would have to be insane in a way that did not involve hitting. We even did some brain-storming, and settled on either of the following as an acceptable form of insanity: believing herself to be a giant, man-eating crocodile, or believing herself to be a monster. (But only a good monster. Child: "A good monster is a monster that it hits evil and evil goes home.")

***

Bits of conversation that I overheard on Friday:

A: Stop it! I told you, I'm not a train!!
N: Yes you are!!!


Viggy: You want to call it a chicken? Fine. It's a chicken. Now GET OUT OF THE CHICKEN!!