There are a number of ways to say you've been pushed over the edge of sanity and reason and are having a complete mental and emotional breakdown.  Personally I like off your nut, losing your religion, a few sammiches short of a picnic and when you've strayed over the line where the crazy bats are, well my friends, you've gone and lost your schmidt.  (No Shandy, you're pregnant, not bat schmidt crazy)
I've had a few occurrences this year that have pushed me to the edge of my rope (also a great colloquialism).  There's been Day of the Grandmothers (to be fair that was last year, but it was a holiday so it counts as double), the ongoing crazy that is my digestive tract, tearing apart my house, the entire IEP fiasco with my eldest child, and then that woman reared her ugly head again the day before heart surgery.  That woman, she has no other name in my vocabulary, is my MIL.  She's been that woman since I cut off contact with her in October of '95.  And as with things like nasty infections and unimaginable pain, I can't say I miss her.
Due to some of the more amazing things she's said and done over the brief period I had the unpleasure of her company, we've cut off all contact with her and her husband, what's his face.  If you can't imagine what would make you do something like that, you should take a gander here, for a six part look into some tamer MIL's.  Read them knowing I can easily top them.  That woman is the cherry on top of their crazy, and the whipped cream, and sprinkles... you get the idea.
The day before Minion #1 was headed 3 hours away for heart surgery, we get contacted by that woman.  We've asked numerous times to be left alone, don't call, don't write, don't send things.  The King sent her an email in November of last year that requesting yet again that there be no contact(mostly because I didn't want another Christmas gift that had a label on it saying it causes cancer, I schmidt you not).  But no, that woman has a bad memory apparently, perhaps the crazy interferes with it, maybe it's more like the Grinch, her shoes are too tight, head's not screwed on right, or her heart is just two sizes too small.  Like the Whoo's, no one quite knows the reason.
So there I stood red faced and angry in my kitchen.
Thinking of nothing more than an hours worth of bitchin'.
I growled with a snarly little Keebler-Elven sneer,
Tomorrow is pre-op testing day, and it's nearly here.
Could that woman not have waited, found something else to do?
Someone else to bother, someone else to piss off through and through?
No, I didn't think in cute Dr. Seuss rhymes at the time.  In fact, language was beyond me for a bit., I was so far past losing my schmidt.

Once we were back home and more settled, I sat down and logically starting thinking about the situation.  How do you handle someone that won't leave you alone?  Yeah, you start by writing another letter.  So I did.
It will be sent certified mail, and hopefully my schmidt will stay in one place for a while.  At least until IEP season begins anew.
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