Tuesday, June 1, 2010
TIME OUT ISLAND
If I've changed the milk bag once, I've changed it a billion times. Just sayin'.
Hey, how do you like that drawing? That represents a solid forty five minutes of Mom Job avoidance. Yeah! At one point my son came up, as I was drawing away at the computer, and exclaimed with hyperbolic despair and disbelief that his lunch STILL was not ready! Oh, the tragedy! The day he learns to slice the crusts off and slap the pb and j on himself will be a day that's almost as exciting as when he finally learned to wipe his own bum with passable competence. Milestones, people--we can all look forward to milestones.
I am crammed with PMS. I'm QUAGMIRED in it. I have read that in some cultures, while women are having their periods, they stay in a special hut. Have I innacurately noted that it is perhaps called a "moon hut?" Well, at any rate, that sounds dreamy. Imagine it--no kids, no men, just peace and tranquility. It sounds like a vacation to me. However, I think the hut would be far more beneficial during PMS time; a time when all the right hormones converge to make me nearly homicidal. There's even a regular day during the bad pre-hormone cycle whereby I will faithfully declare that THIS HOUSE IS A PIGSTY! I hate to admit this, but a couple of months back, I warned Jon to note on his calendar the week that I would hate all mankind (and I mean humankind by that). I showed him where abouts good old PMS begins, and then the blessed date with the star on it when my little red friend might show up. So, he, thinking he was very clever, marked on the calendar the day he figured I would start freaking out about the state of the house. I forgot about this, and would you believe that on that very day I shouted out; "THIS HOUSE IS DISGUSTING!" He was delighted. Grumble, grumble.
So anyway, I just want to be alone. Alone! ALONE! A*L*O*N*E Yesterday I ran a small errand for my sister, and when I pulled up to her house, her super duper jerk neighbour was putting his garbage out front, and happened to be looking at me. I fixed him with a good; "give me a reason to kill you," look and he soon looked away. "Yeah, that's right MOFO, you'd BETTER LOOK AWAY FIRST!" Brutal. Still, these emotions have me in their power--not that I take them out PHYSICALLY on anyone. I'd rather plug my ipod into my head and listen to "Break Stuff" by Limp Bizkit. I can't go into too much detail if you haven't heard the song, because it is chock full of the really good swear words. Anyway, you should get the general idea just from the title. I planted four containers of flowers last night without anyone bugging me, and then I felt much, much better.
Today, however, I'm back on the PMS train. The kids were getting on my nerves as usual, and I told them again that if they didn't KNOCK IT OFF, I was going to send them on a vacation to TIME OUT ISLAND. Then, after a flash of inspiration I said; "actually, I'm going to send you to TIME OUT WORLD. It's next door to Disney World." Jack said; "is it???" I said; "yeah, only you don't get to have any fun, you just sit there and SMARTEN UP all day. Ha ha! 'From this point, you will be SMARTENING UP for one hour...'" Then both kids shouted; "Aaaaah! I don't wanna go there!" This time-out wishful rant was probably in reaction to my son telling me that I was "pissing him off." He's at that age right now whereby newfound bad words are like shiny treasures. I said; "WHOA, WHOA, WHOOOOOOOOA! You can't say that until you're old and ugly, like Mummy!"
You know what else is really important when one has PMS? Sleep. Okay, so that's a hot one. If "Snorry Snorrington" doesn't wake me up several times during the night, my daughter Ella is pretty much up for the day anywhere between 6 AM and 7. So, at 6:30 this morning, there she is, all perky and FRIGGING RELENTLESS beside our bed.
"Daddy, I need apple juice." If you just forgot that I typed FRIGGING RELENTLESS, then you won't understand why it's pointless to NOT GIVE IN and get her the apple juice. Relentlessness: this is a quality both my children have in spades. While it will give me an aneurism eventually, I have to think that it will serve them well in their adult lives. Still, there's that aneurism that I'll be getting to one day...
***NB No, aneurisms are not funny. I'm not making a joke about people who've had them. Trust me. The point is, 6:30 in the morning, after a sh*tty night's sleep, is really, really not funny either.
So, what I want to say is, "dinner? Laundry? Washing dishes? Today? You people can suck it!" I don't think they'd take it too well.