NOTE TO SELF on how to keep the crazies at a minimum
After a week of caring for my three small sons and my 2 year old nephew, after staying up late at night with my husband trying to push off several tomorrows, after my 2nd born cut his own hair and lied about it, and after my 1st born told me that my bathing suit fit me much better last summer,
I was tired,
but life goes on,
obla-dee-obla-da. I was honored to care for 4 boys, and I have felt mostly content (except I’d like a new pair of TOMS Shoes), and Jesus has been good to me. There were no red flags or light houses telling me that I was about crash.
A trip to New York City is on the horizon, and it made me itch for some comfy shoes and a few days of city-walking, so I ordered some awesome new shoes that arrived way too large for me. I immediately took them and 4 little boys to the local UPS store to return them (just the shoes) for a refund, so I could buy some that do fit. I spent $9 on shipping, and yesterday,
the package rolled right back into my yard via the big brown truck. An hour later, happy but exhausted, I took the shoes back to UPS expecting that they’d make it all right.
But they said I would have to pay to have it reshipped, and suddenly, like a flash of lightening, I became mad as a hornet, and after the mad – in front of two extremely sweet UPS workers – I felt my bottom lip quiver out in that very familiar two year old pout, and then I realized,
“Oh, I am so tired.”
And then I started squalling, and I mean, hands over my drawn-up, leaky face, I actually squeaked a few times. The poor girl felt so sorry for me that she had the package shipped as I had originally asked, and who knows? She may have paid for it herself to get me out of there. I sobbed my way to the van, and then I cried at home all over Seth for a while, and he was so confused, and so was I, and I have never been more embarrassed.
I can be a fairly artsy but normal girl three weeks out of the month, but that other week … CooCoo for Cocoa Puffs!
I told Seth I felt crazy, and he said, “Well, no offense, but listen to yourself.”
And then I laughed hysterically for about five minutes before I called the UPS girl to apologize.
PMS is no excuse, and it is no surprise. We ladies always know it’s coming. Hello. Why wouldn’t we prepare better and follow a few precautionary steps to protect ourselves and our families from some apparently poisonous concoction of hormones that douse our brains and nervous systems?
I am not a rule girl, and I love grace, but I am about to make a law:
- A woman must not restrict her sleep in any way before the hormone shower of hysteria comes. She needs to go to bed at 7:00 PM and stay there with a good book, a glass of something wet to drink, and maybe three small pieces of chocolate, and then she must be asleep by 9:00.
- A woman must not eat an entire bag of chips and then wonder why she has gained 5 lbs. (This sort of goes for every day of the month.)
- A woman must take all her thoughts and save them for a while to reevaluate them – see if they’re true. If she starts to think in extremities like – No one loves me – or – I have the ugliest legs on the planet – or – my house will never be clean, then she must take extreme measures to make an even earlier bedtime, say 6:00, with dinner in bed and maybe some of those soundproof headphones with good music that she’s never heard before so she can’t be reminded of, say, her most embarrassing moments.
Do you happen to have any laws you’d like to add here? I welcome your help. Thank you.