Momma, You're Craaaaazy...

I was around six or seven the first time my mother lost her mind. A closet hippie, she rode the line between quiet homemaker and front cover of Mother Earth News. I don't recall what triggered the episode, but I remember the results: My mother joined a Co-Op.

When I say Co-Op, I don't mean a small group of friends casually discussing how to grow rutabagas. I mean darn near Commune Co-Op. We weren't lined up to drink the Kool-Aid, mind you. That was because, in a flash of genius, Mum decided that sugar was evil. The Kool Aid was thrown away. I think she even threw out the pitcher.

This type of event is cataclysmic to a small, impressionable child. The Kool Aid pitcher was replaced by a water distiller of such grand proportions that it was bolted to the kitchen counter. Not only was the water distilled, it was to be consumed at room temperature, or, per instructions, warm. The end result was not unlike dipping one's head into the bathtub for a casual chug-a-lug.

Mum also decided, for reasons still unknown, that we lacked adequate doses of daily vitamins. While this could have been easily solved by cutting back on our daily carb and salt intake (spaghettios, anyone? How about some generic hamburger helper?) - Mum decided that we needed mega-doses of vitamins (in pill form). I was also placed on prune juice- 'to keep me regular'.

In addition to the warm water, pills and prune juice, we were also forced to eat the 'food' purchased from the Co-Op. Everything was purchased in bulk, generally in five to ten pound quantities. I don't know about you, but I have no use for an OUNCE of carob chips laced with honey, nevermind TEN POUNDS of it. All these years later, I can still taste the 'desserts' made with those chips. The memory still makes me gag.

I don't recall how long this bout with eco-insanity lasted in our house. The distiller stayed bolted to the countertop for years, finally dismantled and trashed when the kitchen was remodeled. I was twelve when that happened.

The second time my mother lost her mind, I was around 14. For reasons still unclear, we ate quiche for a month. Every. Freakin'. Night. There was bacon quiche, broccoli quiche, cauliflower quiche (gag!), ham quiche, Cheese (plain) quiche. There was no sense in complaining: Mum would merely roll her eyes at whichever ungrateful child that spoke up, signaling that whining was simply our way to make her nuts.

In this instance, I clearly recall when the fad ended. My father (Mr. Law and Order) ate the quiche quietly for the entire month. On the last night, he simply put his fork down, looked my mum in the eye and said quietly, "Hon, when I come home from work tomorrow, I would really like not to eat Scrambled Egg Pie for dinner. It doesn't matter what you make. Just not that."

That was all it took. The next night, things took a decided turn for the worse. Mum decided that I needed to learn how to cook. This brings us to my mother's turn: The first time I thought I'd lose my mind, Renn was fourteen. She was just learning to cook, and I didn't want to discourage her. But all she knew how to make was Meatloaf. I think we ate it for about a month, along with boxed potato, corn and snickerdoodles. It's been twenty years, and the thought of how a snickerdoodle smells still makes me gag...

Now it's your turn! In honor of Mother's Day: When did your Mum first lose her mind? Or, as a mum, when did you first lose yours?

[In a twist of what can only be irony: Blogger spellcheck tried to change "Co-Op" to "crap"!]