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At the urging of Allison, we spent Saturday morning at the new Tower Grove Farmer's Market. I've been remiss in hitting farmer's markets this summer, and I made up for it with a vengence on Saturday. I managed to do most of my grocery shopping for the week. And cheap! Good lord, that's some cheap, yummy, awesome fresh food.

While I shopped (and visited), B. and Clara Jane paid a visit to the wading pool. What's this? A free, big-kid-free pool, just for little kids? Sign us up! Lunch consisted of Clara Jane and me, sitting on a bench, plowing through half a quart of tiny fresh strawberries. Nothing to panic about there, no sir.

Sunday started off great. For Father's Day, B. wanted to take Clara Jane to the mall with the merry-go-round so they could go for a spin or three. I bought shoes. Then dinner at House of Wong, which was near-perfect, as it always is. Add some cake batter-flavored ice cream for dessert, and life's looking pretty darn good.

And yet, I panic.

Despite all the fun, the stress is always near the surface these days. By the time we got home Sunday night, it was building fast. By 11 PM, I decided I needed to get out of the house or I was going to snap. Within minutes of leaving the house, I felt fine. The only thing that left me feeling not-so-fine was the thought of returning home, which brought with it a racing heart and stomach butterflies.

Why don't I want to be home? It's not like it's a bad place. A little messy, yes, but it's also where B. and Clara Jane live. It's where my dogs and my cat are generally located. All my stuff's there. And there's the rub ... everything in my life is in my house. Everything for which I'm responsible. Responsibilities that I can't escape as long as I'm at home. Even when I'm asleep, the responsibilities are there. As long as I'm in that house, I can't turn off those responsibilities. I don't think I'm supposed to.

I returned home around 1 AM and didn't fall asleep until 5 AM. Two hours later, Clara Jane woke me up, excited about going to Bug Camp. I wanted to cancel, I really did. But she was so excited to go, and I wasn't excited about 1) being stuck at home, and 2) trying to come up with ways to entertain a 2-year-old when I'd only slept for two hours. So off we went, one of us intent on frying large bugs with a plastic magnifying glass, the other intent on mastering the fine art of sleeping with eyes wide open, a la Murphy, The Dog Too Stupid to Be Alive. She's much better at it than me.

I had intentions of napping while Clara Jane napped, sure that the morning of bug-frying fun coupled with frolicking in the 90-degree heat would knock her out for two, three hours. Instead, we spent the afternoon wrestling while she fought sleep. We spent the exact same amount of time battling for this nap as I had spent sleeping in the previous 28 hours.

This is why I panic. This shit is crazy-making.

Today, the panic and anxiety have been at bay. I think I'm too tired to feel anything that extreme. Besides, it's been a fucked-up kind of day. I called B. shortly after I woke up, as I do most mornings, and got the shitty news that he was robbed on the train this morning. He's fine, but some punkass kid took it upon himself to snatch the Nintendo DS out of B.'s hands. After B. chased the kid out of the train and down the street for several blocks to no avail, he complained to the transit's security guard, who was on the platform when B. pursued the kid. "We don't deal with stuff like that," he said.

Well. That makes me feel safe. I would think that an adult chasing a kid out of a Metrolink train during rush hour might be a security concern. Perhaps I'm an idiot.

While this ultimately isn't huge - B. didn't get hurt, nor did he lose his wallet or laptop - it's still a bit sickening. B. never buys anything for himself. Never. He bought the Nintendo for himself last March, the same day I bought my iPod. It was a really big deal for him, and he got a lot of pleasure from it. I was going to get him a few new games for Father's Day, but changed my mind at the last minute. Glad I did, because then it would be even more disappointing.

In more crazy-making news ... Clara Jane's been psycho today. In addition to the fucked up naptime yesterday, she got to bed an hour late, which makes for a long day.

We went to Trader Joe's, which apparently is the Hub of All Crazy-Making today.

Confidential to the sour-faced gal who stood in line behind us: When a child accidentally lets go of her balloon and it floats past you, there is absolutely no need to give the kid the stink-eye. Nor is there any need to stand there with your face two inches from the balloon's dangling string, glaring at the kid's mother when she retrives the balloon. Either lend a hand, or get your contorted puss out of the fucking way.

Oh! But that's not all! I saw the beginnings of what might be the most absurd altercation ever in the parking lot. An older man was helping an even older lady out of Car #1 and into her walker. They were in a handicapped space. Now, I missed a crucial part of the exchange. I don't know if Car #2 attempted to whip into the neighboring handicapped space, or if Car #2 simply blocked traffic, waiting for the people in Car #1 to move. Perhaps Car #2 waited and honked. Either way, the man from Car #1 stood in the parking lot, engaged in a screaming fit with no one regarding the lack of patience exhibited by the people in Car #2. "God forbid when they get old and feeble someday!"

While I do agree that most people in our society - myself included - could stand to be a lot more patient, what struck me as being absurd was that the people in Car #2? They were old and feeble! I saw them. There wasn't a non-gray hair in the car. Granted, none of them required walking assistance, unlike the woman from Car #1, who leaned against her walker, baking in the sun and not saying a word while her caregiver threw his hissy fit to no one. But they were definitely older, and walking slowly and awkwardly.

The people from Car #1 went into the store, and by the time I left, the inhabitants of Car #2 had parked next to Car #1 and entered the store. There was a tiny, sick little part of me that really wanted to go back inside and see if the confrontation continued. Maybe the caregiver, the youngest in the bunch, would grab the man from Car #2 by his Santa Claus beard while the old lady nailed him in the head with her oxygen tank. Trader Joe's will have to add a new bell code. One ring summons a manager, two summons more cashiers, three summons product assistance, and four indicates that a Geezer Fight has erupted in the cheese aisle.

See? It's crazy-making all around. Being in the house makes me crazy. Dealing with The Humans makes me crazy. I think from now on, I'm just going to sit in my truck in the driveway. It's safe out there.