Slow Learners
I will not name names.
I will not name names.
I will not name names.
But some people just don't understand PMS. Some people in my house, I mean. Not that I would name names.
The unnamed person said, "I can always tell when you have PMS because you yell a lot more."
And I said, "Yes, I am very crabby and that's because it's Day 28 in my cycle and I should be sent away on this day, left alone, not bugged on this day." (Add this to the fact that my baby woke up extremely early this morning. I stumbled from place to place, curling up, attempting to sleep again this morning, after that rude awakening--I crashed in my bed, the couch, the recliner, my son's bed, the gliding rocker--while she played or watched television, but it was no use. I didn't get any more sleep.)
And the one who shall not be named said, "But we have to live with you. And you are the only one who can control your own behavior."
It's hopeless, really. For seventeen years, I've lived with, oh, well, someone who shall not be named, and yet, even after all this time, all this predictable, cyclical time, this anonymous one does not understand.
I'd like to see how men would handle their daily lives if they woke up at 6:16 a.m. on a Saturday on the crabbiest day of their month and then had to change a smelly diaper, clean up a disgusting mess (kitty poop), launder dirty sheets, staighten up a stinky kid's room and wash dishes from last night (because I left the house for that Bible study) and then had to go to a birthday party--after driving an hour in the rain, in heavy traffic, with a child in the front seat who would not stop asking questions that started, "Mom, what if . . . ?"
Pray tell, how would a guy handle that kind of situation?
I'm waiting.
And waiting.
Oh, yes, I know. They would say, "Hey, I need to go run an errand. I'll see you later." Or "I have to go catch up on work. I'll be gone less than two hours." Or "Hey, I'm going to lay down and catch the second half of that game, if you don't mind."
Women should be sent away, far away from their families on these irritable sorts of days and given vast quantities of chocolate (without calories, of course) and a complete absence of questions. ("Mom, where is my Gameboy?" "Mom, can I have a snack?" "Mom, can we play checkers on the internet?" "Mom, are we getting donuts today?" "Mom, do you think I can have a new video game for Christmas?")
Personally, I haven't had a decent "day off" in a few weeks and tomorrow will be no better. In the morning, we have church. After that, lunch and Grace's nap. Then, at 3:00 p.m., a baby shower for two pregnant church friends. That will be fun, but there goes the last window of time I might have had to get out of this house, alone, without an agenda, for another week.
Maybe it's just me, but I crave time away from this house, these kids, the neverending laundry. If I don't have a regular break, or at least the prospect of an impending break, I start to feel trapped, imprisoned, crazed, like I want to cut off my arm like that hiker did to escape his entrapment by a boulder.
The boulder that I push up a hill every day starts to feel heavier and heavier until I am pinned beneath it. That's how today is.
That's how PMS feels.
I wish I could explain that to those who shall remain nameless.
And yes, I know, I truly do need a break. And it's not my husband's fault, exactly. People have died. People have been married. It's his job to be there for these things and sometimes, that affects me. I'm just feeling particularly used up at the moment and time will pass and I'll feel better.
Unless, I run away to reunite with Jean-Claude in Tahiti, the 17 year old boy who thought he loved the 17 year old me. In which case, you can still reach me at my current email address.
I will not name names.
I will not name names.
But some people just don't understand PMS. Some people in my house, I mean. Not that I would name names.
The unnamed person said, "I can always tell when you have PMS because you yell a lot more."
And I said, "Yes, I am very crabby and that's because it's Day 28 in my cycle and I should be sent away on this day, left alone, not bugged on this day." (Add this to the fact that my baby woke up extremely early this morning. I stumbled from place to place, curling up, attempting to sleep again this morning, after that rude awakening--I crashed in my bed, the couch, the recliner, my son's bed, the gliding rocker--while she played or watched television, but it was no use. I didn't get any more sleep.)
And the one who shall not be named said, "But we have to live with you. And you are the only one who can control your own behavior."
It's hopeless, really. For seventeen years, I've lived with, oh, well, someone who shall not be named, and yet, even after all this time, all this predictable, cyclical time, this anonymous one does not understand.
I'd like to see how men would handle their daily lives if they woke up at 6:16 a.m. on a Saturday on the crabbiest day of their month and then had to change a smelly diaper, clean up a disgusting mess (kitty poop), launder dirty sheets, staighten up a stinky kid's room and wash dishes from last night (because I left the house for that Bible study) and then had to go to a birthday party--after driving an hour in the rain, in heavy traffic, with a child in the front seat who would not stop asking questions that started, "Mom, what if . . . ?"
Pray tell, how would a guy handle that kind of situation?
I'm waiting.
And waiting.
Oh, yes, I know. They would say, "Hey, I need to go run an errand. I'll see you later." Or "I have to go catch up on work. I'll be gone less than two hours." Or "Hey, I'm going to lay down and catch the second half of that game, if you don't mind."
Women should be sent away, far away from their families on these irritable sorts of days and given vast quantities of chocolate (without calories, of course) and a complete absence of questions. ("Mom, where is my Gameboy?" "Mom, can I have a snack?" "Mom, can we play checkers on the internet?" "Mom, are we getting donuts today?" "Mom, do you think I can have a new video game for Christmas?")
Personally, I haven't had a decent "day off" in a few weeks and tomorrow will be no better. In the morning, we have church. After that, lunch and Grace's nap. Then, at 3:00 p.m., a baby shower for two pregnant church friends. That will be fun, but there goes the last window of time I might have had to get out of this house, alone, without an agenda, for another week.
Maybe it's just me, but I crave time away from this house, these kids, the neverending laundry. If I don't have a regular break, or at least the prospect of an impending break, I start to feel trapped, imprisoned, crazed, like I want to cut off my arm like that hiker did to escape his entrapment by a boulder.
The boulder that I push up a hill every day starts to feel heavier and heavier until I am pinned beneath it. That's how today is.
That's how PMS feels.
I wish I could explain that to those who shall remain nameless.
And yes, I know, I truly do need a break. And it's not my husband's fault, exactly. People have died. People have been married. It's his job to be there for these things and sometimes, that affects me. I'm just feeling particularly used up at the moment and time will pass and I'll feel better.
Unless, I run away to reunite with Jean-Claude in Tahiti, the 17 year old boy who thought he loved the 17 year old me. In which case, you can still reach me at my current email address.
posted by Melodee at Saturday, September 18, 2004
6 Comments:
Hey, you NAMED names, lol...
Mel, totally hearing you about PMS. Serioulsy PMSing here, I get so irritable I can barely stand myself. Also haven't had a break from the kids/house lately, so that's not helping. It's pretty sad when I look forward to my every other work weekends as "me" time.
Hope you get some time to yourself, before you need to surgically extricate yourself... Mom's need at least 3 arms, you could not make do with only 1. Michelle aka s0ngbird1962
After reading all your most recent posts I say to say, with all respect, you are probably in more need of a Margarita than anyone I've met in the last ten years.
And without trying to sound like a typcial male (which is probably what I'll come off as anyway): keep your head up.
Preach it, sister.
Oh, do I hear you! I wish I could get time alone in the house! Although I would be tempted to do housework, I'm make sure I did not of the sort! While reading this post I had to get up 5 times and re-read part of it.
That's a true advantage of living with another woman: recognition and comprehension of PMS. :)
You crack me up even on Day 28! I hope that you are feeling better by now.
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