I dislike dogs even more than normal.
I throw away toys instead of put them in their proper place.
I actually consider writing to someone who knows something and get an answer to this question: Why are some fire trucks white? It’s dumb and I don’t think it should be allowed. Fire trucks are supposed to be red. If we’re going to start changing the color, then where are we going to draw the line? Slippery slope. Slippery, slippery slope. If my house is ever on fire and a yellow fire truck drives up to wet it, I will stand in my yard, wearing my pajamas, holding my children and my scrapbooks and my coffee bean grinder and demand that the yellow fire truck leave my burning house at once.
A vacuum cord can make me cry and question my salvation.
Voices behind drive through intercoms make me want to bang my head on my steering wheel. Yes, I know that the voice is coming out of a mouth that belongs to a body that has a soul that Jesus loves. I know that. I'm not saying you don't need to pray for me. But last night, I said, “I need one kid’s hamburger.” The voice said, “Do you want cheese on your hamburger?” I didn’t scream. I just banged my head to the beat of, “I know what a hamburger with cheese is called and if I wanted that, I would have said cheeseburger. I’m an unhealthy eater, not a moron.” Sometimes, the people taking your order can see you bang your head. That’s why, we really shouldn’t do this.
After watching Super Size Me, I'm on to these people. I know that they are bent on making me fat. That's what they want. They want me fat. They can't just let me order what I want. They have to ask me if I want to supersize it, or if I want some extra greasy, fried, lard to dip my fries in. So, with PMS, of course I took her practically forcing cheese on me more personal than I do normally. I wanted to say, "Stop trying to make me have a pudge! I know what you are trying to do! Stop it! I rebuke you in the name of Gold's Gym."
After last night, I made myself promise myself that I would not do drive throughs ever again when I have PMS. It's just not wise. It's too much for me. I'm not mature enough to get through it with out having to ask for forgiveness. Normally, when I go through Sonic and order a drink, and then have "the voice" say, "Do you want fries or tater tots with that" I swallow hard and then blow it off. But with PMS added into the fast food equation, I actually think to myself, "I know you've been trained to say that, but do you realize, now that you have asked me that question, I can’t possibly say I want some tater tots, or I would be admitting that I am such a doofsicle that I forgot that solids are what you get when you’re hungry…and liquids are what you get when you’re just thirsty.”
A stroller can make me so insane that it actually crosses my mind to just leave my kids inside it in the driveway until Aaron gets back home.
I don’t do that.
I have PMS, not a mental condition.
One time, when I had PMS I couldn’t get my double stroller to close, so I jammed the whole thing into our vehicle in its upright position. A double stroller, not folded…in our vehicle. Do you know how much PMS it takes to accomplish a feat of that magnitude?
As I looked in the rear view mirror at my children, looking at the weird stroller smashed into our car…some part of it touching some part of their car seat, I had to laugh.
Those three little letters can silence four little boys in a car pretty fast. Not one of them said, “Mom, why is our stroller in our car like that? Why are you sweating? Why am I having to drive all the way home looking left because if I look to my right, I will shove my face into the cup holder of our stroller.”
Instead, Anson says, “I love you, mommy.” That’s when I laughed out loud and told them I was insane and sorry for tae kwandoing our stroller in the mall parking lot.
If I didn’t want another baby so bad, I would go beg for a hysterectomy.
I have cleaned my entire house today.
When I have PMS, I take it out on my baseboards…and on our Halloween candy.
And…I have a cold.
PMS and a cold.
This combination makes me want to find out who the actual people were who decided to change Nyquil’s formula…as in find these people’s names and addresses.
It used to be my favorite over the counter medication.
I couldn’t take it for about a decade because I was either pregnant or breastfeeding. So, as soon as the first signs of snot are spotted…these days, I reach for that wonderful red elixir that makes me go into a night-time, sniffling, sneezing coma.
Nyquil decided that if it had to be behind the counter so high school drug makers can’t get to it, then it was going to change it’s formula so it could be in front of the counter. They changed their formula from one that worked, to one that makes me sit up every 20 minutes and say, “I can’t breathe.”
But good thing I can buy this wonderful stuff in front of the counter. That makes all the difference. And, since I have PMS right now, instead of just saying, “I can’t breathe” I also sit up, grab a pillow and hit our bed with it in perfect beat to, “I’m suffocating and I’m going to die drinking my snot. I can’t die a snot drinker.” What would people say at my funeral? What will you tell our children?
With PMS I can’t decide what I’m more upset with…
Strollers because it’s obvious men have designed something women actually use the majority of the time…along with dishwashers, since we are still BENDING OVER to load our dishwasher all day. The only thing that would make doing dishes all day better would be if we got to do squats while loading the dishwasher…or lunges. Why can’t dishwashers be higher? Just a little higher? A little bit? Someone needs to get on this. Get rich and make your momma happy.
Nyquil for not alerting me that they were going to start stinking? If I would have known that Nyquil was turning into the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, fever, who are we kidding, we don’t help any of that, medicine…I would have stock piled enough of the good stuff to get me through the rest of my life.
Parents of teens? Women who work their rears off can’t get higher dishwashers and yet the entire world puts perfectly wonderful drugs behind a counter so teenagers can’t mix Benadryl with battery acid so they can feel like they are on a sit-n-spin with their friends? This means if parents would just watch their kids, I could be in a responsible, proper dosage coma right now. I could be horizontal AND still breathing.
What has this world come to?
I’ll write something nice in 5-7 days.
By that time, I'm sure I can find something to be thankful for to replace all those monthly thoughts.
Just wanted you to know that you aren't alone. All women are insane from time-to-time. Not ALL of these things happen every time I have PMS...these are just some of them that happen some times.
I have been known to call friends after one of these things have happened and say, "Pray for me today. I want to lock myself in a closet so no one has to be near me."
Praise God for friends. And praise God for breathing.
Tonight, if you can breathe lying down...you need to thank God for it. Don't take breathing for granted.
Breathing is a gift from God...and so was Nyquil, but now it's gone.
He gives and takes away. He gives and takes away.