I'm Sorry, Have I Suddenly Become a Doddering Idot?

At what exact moment did I go from being "Mommy" to being ancient and clueless Mom? What magical bridge did I cross to deserve being addressed with "Mom... you need to watch what you're doing. Here, let me help you." "No, Mom, you didn't just delete the internet." "Mother...quit pressing all those buttons on your phone and just give it to me!"  I find myself stomping my little foot and screaming, "NO! I do it MYSELF!!" And I feel an overwhelming need to go pout in the corner.

Case in point: a few days ago I decided it was time to start digging through our chest freezer in the basement in preparation for the "Big Cook." That's the month before our annual Christmas Open House (we invite everyone we know and some we don't know). It's the 30 days of cooking and baking and tasting and gaining weight, and I need room in the freezer for all that stuff.

A chest freezer is a scary thing; it tends to collect items the way an attic does.  I rarely make it all the way to the bottom. I'm a little nervous that someday I'll find a chopped-up human body in there, and when the police show up,  I won't have a clue how old it is (no "best used by" date!).

Anyway...I noticed two zip-lock gallon size bags enclosing a vaguely organic substance. Hmmm....what did I put in there? No, I did not write a little message in the little message area on the bag--that's a bit too Martha Stewart for me. I'm thinking, 'did I put mashed bananas in bags again? They turn kinda brown...' and naturally I broke a little corner off the item to taste it.

Huh. That's the dullest-tasting banana I've ever had. Let me take off my glasses and get up close to this stuff...odd...it looks like little...hairs?...pieces of hay?...mixed with...tiny, tiny, ROCKS?

After spitting and gagging into the kitchen sink for a few moments, I began the semi-hysterical interviews. "Did anyone put something in ziplock bags in the freezer that was brown?" My youngest daughter comes in the kitchen, sees the bag, and says exasperatingly "Mom! That's my roach dirt!"

OK. Now, I am a thoroughly patient woman. But ROACH DIRT?? In my FREEZER? "Mom, don't freak out. The roaches weren't IN it; it's just the special dirt I put in the bottom of their cage. I have to keep it fresh and moist, and that's the best way."

VERY IMPORTANT FOOTNOTE: My daughter has Madagascar Hissing Cockroaches, which are in no way like the other nasty cockroaches that I have experienced in my house both here and in Texas. They are large, placid, and unassuming creatures that do not multiply in my kitchen, and are common pets with certain "buggy-type" people.

Back to the action--I remind my daughter in  gentle and persuasive tones that perhaps she aught to TELL me when she plans to put dirt in my freezer. She comes back with this zinger...

"Well, Mom, [and here comes that tone of voice!] maybe you shouldn't just eat things when you don't know what they are. Next time, ask!"

Humph. I'm going to the corner to pout.