I must be premenstrual because the past couple of days I've been craving chocolate like mad, I snap a lot at Brahm and Oliver, and every little thing gets on my nerves. No calming self-talk, relaxing bath or long bike ride can snap me out of it, either. Therefore, I know it's hormonal.
Take tonight, for example. I asked Brahm five or six times to do his homework and every time I went to check on him, he was doing anything but; Oliver was chasing his chicken through the house ("Fluffy stays outside, Beavis!"); tried unsuccessfully many times to get both boys to eat their dinner, wanted to get the yard cleaned up for when my parents visit tomorrow; made mental note to pick up drip tape for community garden tomorrow morning all the while trying not to forget Brahm's Science Fair project is due next week.
"Mom, I'm hungry!" Brahm complains.
"You know why you're hungry??", I snap sarcastically.
"But I ate all my dinner."
I look at his plate and see that it's true. "Fine, I'll make you some nachos. While I'm doing that, please go in and finish your homework."
I put the nachos under the broiler then go in to see if he's actually doing it. No, he's absorbed in his Bakugan.
"But Dad said he'd come in and help me with the last five problems!"
Ugh. Brooks had left to go check in on a neighbor of ours who is going through a divorce.
"Look, I'll help you with them then." I say impatiently.
We finish the rest of it before it occurs to me that while we're at it, it wouldn't hurt to make some headway on his science project. We go to the computer, log on to NASA's website and begin to discuss the laws of aerodynamics. Oliver comes into the room and suddenly feels energized by the topic. He starts talking over me about drag, lift and thrust all while I'm trying to explain it to Brahm. Meanwhile I hear Brooks come in the front door and go to the kitchen. Soon he's talking to me, too, right in the middle of a sentence.
"Jenny?" Pause. "Jenny?"
"I'm sorry but I can't talk to you right now." I boom. "As you can see, I'm trying to help Brahm with his science project and I can't talk to two people at the same time!"
"OK. But your nachos are on fire."
Two hours and one very stinky house later, the boys are in bed and we're crashed on the couch.
"Does my hair stink like smoke?" I ask him, holding up a strand under his nose.
"Jenny, there isn't one part of our house that doesn't stink like smoke right now."
"You know, it's hard being a woman with PMS!" I complain, feeling sorry for myself.
Without skipping a beat, he adds, "Yes, but not as hard as being a man who is married to the woman with PMS."
(Final mental note: after drip tape, pick up new smoke alarm for kitchen.)