Yesterday was one lousy day. Nobody died and no one was hurt. Nothing tragic happened. But, I was…let’s see, how can I put this delicately for you male readers? Let’s just say, I was…hormonal.
Something has happened since I entered my late thirties. Something bad. For a couple of days a month, I turn into an evil woman. I yell, I fight, and every, little, minuscule thing irritates me. I am supremely grumpy.
On many levels, I feel like a female version of Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk. There are moments, during these dark days, where I would bet money my skin was turning green. And, I’m pretty sure that I snarl and spit when I talk.
My two, poor children bear the brunt of my vicious Mrs. Hyde. I yell about toys being all over the house, shoes being left in the hall, wet towels on the bathroom floor, and kids who take too long to eat their dinner. That is to say, I get mad about normal stuff which happens every day.
But, on hormonal days, I can’t even stand the normal stuff. I become a raging freak, and what’s really bad is that I KNOW it, yet I can’t stop. For those one or two nights a month, my kids don’t even argue if I send them to bed early.
Last night I desperately tried to lighten the mood. After I grumbled about picking up some clothes off the floor, I sang, “I am grumpy. I am grumpy…” (To the tune of Frère Jacques.)
And, from the other room, my nine year old daughter was brave enough to finish the verse with, “Yes you are! Yes you are!”
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