Hiatus Over

My hiatus is over, so all of you who signed up to be notified of posts will now be pestered once more.

Yesterday I had something happen to me that hadn’t happened in a while.  I had raging hormones, and it got me thinking.  Being a woman, in some ways really sucks.  I mean really, most of us don’t have perfect cycles.  If we did, we’d rarely complain–not that we complain much anyway.  They are unpredictable and nightmarish in the teen years until they get going.  By the time they get going, you’re up to your armpits in babies and lack of sleep.  By the time you can actually get a full nights sleep and enjoy your family, you’re heading into peri-menopause, or just plain menopause, hence the roller coaster.  And I don’t mean the teary eyed, sniffling, crying at Hallmark commercials hormonal roller coaster.  I mean, the first person that crosses my path I will pluck their eye out roller coaster.

So just imagine the responses to the following:  1.  When I did the grocery shopping, the store was out of half the stuff I needed, 2.  When I came home, the three teenagers WATCHED me lug groceries in (in spite of me texting them to say when I got home they would have to unload and put away-to which only Buzzard responded–the other two doing excellent imitations of a dead possum),  3.  DH only becoming “Busy” when I arrived from second grocery run, 4.  Bag of marinating meat falling off the counter and landing on the floor with a very loud splat(no it was not sealed shut and yes, I did drop the F bomb.  Twice.  Then I went out to the garage and screamed three times.)  5.  Buzzard said, “Mom, you must be hormonal.”

I hate this side of me.  It is the side of me that thinks everyone must hear what I have to say on anything that bothers me (hence my post).  DH retreated upstairs at 7:30 PM without saying anything.

“So,” I shout from downstairs, “Are you just staying up there?”

“Yes,” a timid squeak came.

I march upstairs to glare at him. “What about the kids?” I say as though they are still young enough to need to be put to bed.

“They’re 15 and 16.  They won’t even know we’ve left the room.”  He pauses, “Or they’ll be glad we did,” he says, laughing.

“Buzzard says I’m hormonal.”

He shakes his head, demonstrating the understanding that some things are better left unsaid.  “What did you say?”

“With complete sang-froid, I told him he should never say that to a woman, even if it is true.  And now that I’ve used up the bit of composure I had, I’m going to put a comedy in the DVD player, and fall asleep to it.”

“Probably the safest thing you’ve done all day.”

Thank God today is a new day.