Livin' The Dream.

Thursday, May 30, 2013

PMS'ing is great. 
It really is.  It's so awesome.
You know what?  Honestly.  I don't even like to use that word.
It's too delicate a descriptor for the monstrosity of hormonal changes taking place in us crazy-ass women each month.
Regardless, it happens. 
As reliable as the rolling tides.
(Sorry.  That was gross.)
PMS.  It's too soft.
More like an annoying sound or noise than a word.
Whatever.  It's out of control.
Things that I'm impervious to the other splendid three weeks out of the month, 
become landslides in to a dark abyss for the duration of that magical week.
I can feel a rage so intense I really can justify yanking the wheel of my mini van full of whining children into a roadside ditch.
Yet can be sobbing within the same hour,
wanting more children and unable to imagine my life moving on from the small lives I have.
SO effed up.
The prior weeks of beautiful, almost (okay, not really) flawless eating, 
comes to a screeching halt in this pre-week of fun.
Salt, sweet, sweet, salt, crunchy, salt, salt, burger, 
booze, strawberry shake.
So out of control.  But whatever.  Enough of that.
Putting all my womanly issues aside,
I have come to love and welcome new fears each week.
This month is Recluse spiders (not so much the spiders, as the bite,)
sinkholes,
undiscovered health issues.
Not necessarily cancer, 
the crazy weird random ones, where symptoms are subtle at first, 
then pick up speed before you've even gotten a grip.
Like Lymes from an undiscovered tick or some sort of degenerative disease that starts with an angry knee or wrists and spirals from there.
There's always something, isn't there?
I have recently become obsessed with the overgrown limbs of the many old trees in our beautiful neighborhood.
Only in my irrational mind, they're breaking free and crushing one of our children or leaving them with a severe brain injury.
I know!  So morbid, isn't it?
But does it ever end?  As a parent?  
Please, fellow mother, who's head isn't worrying about every little potential disaster, or trying to control it.
One wholly present and unaware or uncaring,
of the dangers that lurk around every corner in the lives of their children.
Come sit by me.
Let's be friends.  Guide me through the ways of your rational brain.
Speaking of, I would love to study your brain.  Because I have no idea what it's like to have a mind you can trust and that functions on the necessary and realistic and non-impulsive.  
I'm seriously a hot mess leering out our kitchen window at all the old trees, as I dip the remaining semi-sweet baking chocolate into the Jiffy PB.
So disturbed.
In between moments of trying to be present and hopeful and bordering on psychotic, 
I'm in the yard, I'm spending my free time in this beautiful river town, freeing the buds for their debut.
{The view from my neighbors back deck.  Ridic, huh?}
Not even sure if it's necessary, but I like to spend time helping them along, digging my hands in the dirt, cutting the grass and weed whipping.  Taking my sh** out on the little buggers.
(The weeds, not the children.)
Taking pictures of anything and everything.
Cows along country roads on the way to Gracie's softball game.
My littlest angel.
Jack told me I looked pretty good for 62.
And asked if it'd be okay if he sang "I like big butts and I cannot lie," for the school talent show.
Needless to say, I'm doin' my job well.  Really well.  
He asked, "Why aren't there "You're Welcome" cards?  You know, after someone sends you a Thank You?"
"Ah, I don't know.  Because then you wouldn't stop sending cards."
This is a kid who follows everything he does above and beyond his 8-year-old obligations to this family, with a, "You're welcome, mom, that I picked up the yard."
Excuse me? 
Children these days.  So entitled.
Regardless, they are mine.
I do my best.
I tell him he can bike home from baseball.
But I won't be far behind. 
{Just not ready to let go yet.  Are we ever?} 
I continue to end each day with gratitude.
No matter what the day has brought. 
And relish in the opportunity each morning, as my feet hit the floor to a new day,
to start again.
Peace out.

2 comments:

gabbygrace said...

oh no I feel badly for my psychotic, sugar attack, raging hormone friend- but so greedy because those behaviors lead to my favorite posts :) love you and all your crazy ass messes!

B. Holmes said...

The worst part is after you have a weird morbid out-of-left-field thought, usually about your family or the possible demise or accident of a loved one. You immediately feel not only guilty about the thought itself but then think you may have just manifested it to come true by thinking it... Or am I just extra paranoid to believe my thoughts could make things happen?! (Thank goodness they don't... you don't want to get inside this brain, trust me);0)

Post a Comment