Get Back In That Taco!

My daughter wet the bed last night, due to a wardrobe malfunction, a.k.a., a poorly-placed diaper. She stumbled upstairs, where I changed her in the dark, stuck a shirt of mine on her and tossed her unceremoniously in my place. I grabbed a pillow and spent the next few precious hours of sleep under a meager blanket on the couch.

Combine those events with this day being one of the WORST pms-related symptom days I have had in many, many moons, and you get one colossally difficult day. Each month, I get to spin the wheel. Sometimes, no symptoms at all. Other times, symptoms that turn me into a completely non-functioning person, except for the rage function, which goes into overdrive. Between the blinding headaches, the weakness in my arms and legs, the pains in my muscles, the tearful tendencies, the impatience, the lightning-fast rage response and the wanting to crawl out of my own skin, it can be simply awful.

(Actually, today I sort of felt like I had a little window into what it must be like to be clinically crazy, a state in which the chemicals take over and you have very little control over what you do with the surge. I wonder if that's what it's like, except with less awareness? Or maybe the awareness is there, which would probably make a person even more nuts, knowing and not being able to do anything about it...Either way, my compassion for crazy people increased exponentially today.)

Tonight, the girls had ice cream for dinner. Well, that and toast on delicious farmers' market bread we got yesterday and lemonade. In my defense, I took them out for lunch after school and they ate bigger meals than usual, so I don't think anyone was deprived. And I couldn't move off of the couch...and Lola can scoop ice cream...so it was a win-win for everyone. The boys and their dad are at a soccer field.

My head hurt so badly tonight that even talking made the pain reverberate through my teeth and shoot backwards to the nape of my neck. This is AFTER taking three motrin pills and hoping for the best, which did not come.

All of this is excuse and reason for the fact that I did not change the sheets on my daughter's bed today and didn't realize it until she was just about to tumble head first into bed for the night. I grabbed her, quick, and tumbled her onto the floor instead. Nice save, mom! But there I was, too tired to even contemplate digging out clean sheets when I was *this close* to bedtime. So instead, I stripped the sheets off, and folded her comforter in half like a sleeping bag and had her climb right in. She thought this was kind of a fun way to sleep.

Even closer to bedtime bliss now, I returned to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, because the big glass of red wine I really wanted would have probably turned me into Sybil. I started poking around on email and facebook, when a disgruntled five year old emerged from her room: "HOW COME SHE GETS TO BE A TACO AND I DON'T?"

So I have just returned from their bedroom after making another comforter taco for the older girl, so she does not feel dissed by her mother. And proving that all bad days do come to an end, the evening closes with a cup of tea in my hand, a nice facebook chat with a friend, and these words wafting from the girls' room:

Bob Dylan, if you want a banana, you have to get back in the taco!"

File that under Words We Never Thought Would Go Together.

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Comments

Teacher Mommy said…
Oh oh oh. I'm trying to decide whether to giggle uncontrollably or send you many virtual hugs. I think both, really.

And oh dear. I have to admit, when I saw the title, certain gutter-oriented thoughts crept into my mind. And I have to say, the post didn't help too much. Especially with the line about Bob Dylan.

*snort*

*heehee*

But really, major hugs and I truly hope the hell of PMS passes oh so quickly.
Sandy said…
You need to give yourself a pat on the back for blogging this one. "Get back in the taco" indeed.

Very cute.

And no one ever died from toast and ice cream for supper. Grains, dairy, protein, and fruit(lemonade). You did good.
Viv said…
There was a day this past week that I gave my kids a choice of 'raw' bread (not toasted) and Nutella, or cereal and milk...it was up to them which one they wanted to fix for themselves and one younger sibling.

(I highly suspect that the more pregnancies a woman has, the worse her pms symptoms become, or perhaps that a woman with fewer children is better able to avoid rage inducing behavior, either way, I know how you feel.)

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