Soap Box of My Mind (indication that I might be crazy)

As a lady who spends most of her time at home with small children, I have ample opportunity to ---how do they say ---mull things over.  Not that I don't talk to my children, but even after all of the activities, all of the books read, all of the directions and redirections given, all of the laughing and joking, and all of the (many, many) questions answered, I am still left with plenty of time in between --plenty of time to imperceptibly talk to myself.  In those moments, when I have retreated to the recess of my own wandering mind, infallibly, I find myself standing on a soap box.  And I preach to a congregation of little ladies who all look and think just like me.  Quite convenient, really, because they all cheer for the clone on the box and agree with her every argument.  Quite inconvenient, on the other hand, because without opposition or at least intelligent conversation, the lady on the soap box remains set in her own thinking, rarely supposing that there could exist differing opinions.