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PMS

shark week, Snow White, Disney World, Magic Kingdom, Orlando, Florida

shark week, sharks, mentruation, PMS, women,shark attack, shark facts

Vacation Shark Week is Deadly

For all the men, the Shark Week Sneak is like the quarterback sneak only much more bloody and without purpose. For some insane reason, I don’t know why other than my body and all that is holy, shark week for me always falls on a holiday, a vacation, a wedding or when I visit my mother-in-law, who scolds me for flushing tampons for fear that I will make the septic tank system explode and kill everyone within a 100 mile radius, but that’s another post entirely. Think Chernobyl of the cotton and bloody kind. Why I thought my first family vacation in 8 years would be an exception, I don’t know. To top it all off, it was my first shark week since February so it’s a doozie. We are talking no holds barred, tiny midgets chewing on your ovaries, two tampons and a mega MAXIPAD every hour. Not mini, not thin, there were no angel wings. Just me, an untapped hemorrhage and an adult diaper.Yeah, THAT kind of shark week.

And to make matters worse, it happened on the one week of the year when it was damn near guaranteed that I had to be in a bathing suit every day and walking around for hours on end at the fucking happiest damn place on earth. I was not so happy. I wanted to kill every lazy overweight person I saw that was riding a scooter because they were too damn lazy to walk.I was hemorrhaging and dying and my bloated ass still walked for 14 hours a day and don’t get me started on the stupid parents who stopped short on a path to scold their child who they refused to rent a stroller for. I was ready to go full on bat-shit crazy in the middle of Disney World. On the other hand, the Big Guy was about to commit a homicide if I rolled my eyes at him one more time. I couldn’t help it. Shark week had me in it’s clutches and was shaking me around like a crackheaded mother trying to quiet it’s crying baby. It’s a wonder my eyes didn’t roll right out of my head. He should be lucky I didn’t fashion a shiv out of my $100 bottle of Disney World water and stab him in the eye. I could have been a blood bath on a much larger scale.

shark week, Snow White, Disney World, Magic Kingdom, Orlando, Florida

Shark Week almost Killed Snow White

Don’t get me started on trudging through Disney World and meeting all of those mother effing happy princesses. So beautiful but for the love of God, what’s up with those squeaky voices. Oh yeah, I’m looking at you Cinderella! It was like nails on a chalkboard and teeth on Styrofoam rolled into one and all I wanted to do was take my kids light-up Jedi sword and club Snow White to death. But I didn’t. I carried on and played nice because I wanted my girls to remember their first trip to the happiest on earth fondly, not refer to it as that one time that Mommy got us all kicked out of Disney world for having a boot party on Belle or pulling Rapunzel’s hair around her neck and choking that bitch out because she just wouldn’t stop smiling.

No, in the end, I smiled and laughed and I even played in the rain and walked in a parade. I may have accidentally tripped the woman who pushed my little girl out of the way so that she could watch the parade herself but I’m pretty sure any self-respecting mom would have done the same, even if she were not hemorrhaging. Shark week came in with a vengeance to make up for lost time but it’s done and over with. We all survived. Of course, we are moving this weekend. I am bloated, achy, irritable and eating every single carb in sight. I am thankful for one thing though, I won’t be stuck listening to It’s a Small World stuck on repeat. Shark week should be spent with the ones you love, making them miserable too, not hating poor unsuspecting strangers.

What’s your most memorable shark week story?

Shark Week Not for the Weak

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shark week ,pms

Shark week is not my favorite week of the month. Shark week (menstruating and PMS, in case you were confused) is just one more thing that I have to deal with on my already full Mommy plate. Shark week is that one week of the month when my entire body rages against me and decides to attempt yet another mutiny. Ain’t no mutiny like a shark week mutiny! Damn you, shark week!

shark week, PMS, living authentically online, Domain .ME, blogging, digital influencer, writer, blogger

Kids, this is your mom before shark week.

But then something happens. My head begins to spin. My breasts ache. I am ravenous to eat things like hot fudge sundaes with jalapeno chips at will. My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!).

My ovaries feel as if a tiny angry troll is squeezing them. I’m bloated like a dead fish (no correlation to the smell, I smell like a summer’s day, damn it!) and as if by some cruel joke, it’s the one week of the entire month that my husband finds me completely sexually irresistible (well, that and ovulation week. Conspiracy, I tell you!). New baby? Who dis? Ain’t nobody got no time for that.

Unfortunately for him, I am like a hybrid between a Praying Mantis and Black Widow spider. All I want to do is rip his head off and eat my young, not necessarily in that order. Pretty much, if you breathe you are in danger of incurring my bloody, hormonal rage and for some reason, I swear my teeth get bigger.

Shark week, PMS

This is Your Mom on Shark Week

For your safety, I am listing here a few ways to survive Shark Week without Losing a limb;

  • No sudden movements or loud sounds, Mama usually has a migraine during shark week. Move slowly and quietly for optimal chance of survival rate.
  • For the love of God, please don’t hide my Diva Cup or flush all the tampons. I’m talking to you fruit of my loins, this could result in Mommy’s head spinning and/or completely popping off.
  • Have chocolate and carbs in the house. A pizza with a side of French fries and a Ding Dong usually does the trick. And NO, don’t remind me that I’m on a diet. There is no reasoning with me when I am on shark week.
  • Don’t ask me any stupid questions, like where is the milk? It’s in the fridge! Do you want to die? And please pick up your f*cking socks! I’m not your maid. Would you like me to shove them down your throat? ( This is directed at the Big Guy, not the children. I pick up their socks, with no threat of choking them out, on the regular.)
  • Don’t look at me sideways, it will surely not bode well for you. I know you will be tempted to test this theory, but just be aware that during shark week, better men have died for less.
  • Don’t comment on how tight my jeans are or the extra head-sized pimple that has sprouted on my forehead. I can see it. I’m menstruating, not blind and I am hyper aware of every single flaw this week.
  • Don’t expect me to try on clothes, especially a bathing suit for a vacation. Don’t even ask. You will be wasting your time and is your life worth it?

Shark Week, is that eye roll worth dying over?

  • Don’t take my measurements for any reason under the sun. Seriously, Mr. Personal Trainer, I know you are a man and don’t understand but I don’t need to know how many inches the water retention is adding to my body. My jeans are cutting me in half; believe me, I’m already aware.
  • Don’t be my Mother or Mother-in-law, anything you do while I am on shark week will leave me exasperated and annoyed, usually taken as passive aggression and held against you for the week. I would recommend marking your calendars and not calling me or making eye contact at all that week.This is more for your benefit than my sanity. I promise.
  • Don’t ask me to step on the scale, this is pretty much any day of the month but it could have dire consequences for you during this week.
  • Don’t raise your voice at me, not even moderately. You can try it. But I’m pretty sure that I will have snatched the snark right out of your mouth before you get to the second word. But, hey, it’s your life.
  • Don’t touch my boobs or ask for any kind of “service” for you. I’m dying over here. Why should you be having a good time?
  • Which reminds me, little one, please don’t ask Mommy for a baby brother on this week. It truly is the furthest thing from my mind. Birth is pain and I’m in enough right now with the troll squishing my ovaries, my sore boobs and cramps. Ask me in a couple weeks, when the water weight is gone and I‘m feeling frisky (this tends to happen during ovulation week. See, conspiracy I tell you!)
  • And under no circumstances, ever ask me if I’ve got PMS? Just observe and know it, that’s enough to save your life. I don’t need your commentary. I know I’m on shark week. I don’t need to know that you know and think I’m being a hormonal bitch I already know that.
  • Your best bet for surviving Shark week is to stay still, be quiet and hope that I don’t see you. In 3-5 days I will be back to my sweet self but for the next few days, stay out of the water.

What is your best tip for surviving shark week in your home? Has anyone ever been seriously maimed during that week? What was there crime? Can’t wait to hear your stories in the comments, Misery enjoys company…especially this week. Oh and for an extra dose of The TRUTH I am guest posting at Blogging Dangerously Where sex in the city meets married with children today. If you are not already familiar with Blogging Dangerously, go now and check it out. Kit is an amazingly funny and quick witted writer and I’m sure that you will love her as much as I do. Also, she is the creator of #wineparty on Twitter every Friday night. What’s not to love?

*Disclaimer; I did not coin the term Shark Week.I can’t remember who the brilliant soul on Twitter was who did, but I have made it my own. That week of the month will forever be known as Shark week in my household. When my daughters begin menstruating, I will pass it down. Shark week is now my legacy:)

P.S. No husbands, children, Mothers or Mother-in -laws were harmed in the making of this Shark week post.

Happy Shark Week, Hope we all make it out alive

 

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PMS~ There is Premenstrual Syndrome, more aptly called the one week a month that I hate all living creatures for even having the gall to breathe, little lone have the audacity to speak to me or ask me for anything at all.But then there is the ever so lovely, PMS and having the responsibility of mothering. Are you effing kidding me? Who ever thought this was a good idea? Come on, it is not an understatement to say it is potentially as deadly a mix as pills and booze.

My dearly beloved husband has departed (no he’s not dead…yet) to the great state of Virginia, for business leaving me, with my last shreds of sanity, alone with my two beautiful girls.

ALONE with PMS!

I have been trying my best to keep them occupied, so they don’t feel the void of their father’s presence as much as they might, say sitting around the house doing nothing. We have been running to and fro, engaging in every last activity I can come up with. This is being done for a dual purpose; 1) to keep my daughters’ completely preoccupied with other activities so they are not missing daddy too much ( and constantly whining about it, as they have so boldly demonstrated they are quite capable of doing) and 2)to keep my house in spic and span condition on the rare chance that there is someone in this world who is actually looking to buy an awesome house in a great subdivision in this awful economy. This has been my life since my husband has made his departure. And if I may say so, myself, I have been doing a damn good job at both, though tiring and nerve racking as it has been.

PMS you Sneaky Bitch! I’m busy! Go away!

Then, from out of nowhere, since I myself have been so preoccupied with all of these activities and have forgotten the beast from within that never misses her visit, she arrives and she is taking no prisoners. I have been ripping heads off of cable companies, phone companies, and even the occasional bystander for 2 days now.I had the good sense of self awareness to realize what was happening, while I was visiting my parents and my 4 year old, who has decided she can’t hear anymore, had a sleep deprived melt down and wanted to leave my mothers house…at bedtime. Yes, at bedtime! This happened after, the previous night, her 2 year old sister had decided that she wasn’t caring for sleeping (all three of us) in Grandma’s full sized bed and proceeded to punish me by screaming ,sporadically, without cause, at the top of her lungs… all night long. Yes, ladies, all night long. Remember those nights with a newborn, when you were so sleep deprived that you prayed for death, just so that you could sleep? This was way worse. Anyways, back to the meltdown, so rather than calm her down, soothing her, and coaxing her to lay down at Grandma’s like I normally would have done. I said, “OK, go potty!” and I proceeded to chuck every bit of crap we brought into the back of my SUV..with the speed of lightening and the fury of the a goat on crack. My parents watched silently and my children, being that they are apparently aware that Mommy gets a little crazy once a month, were unaffected. They simply said their good byes to the grandparents and ignored my mood completely.

Driving home, completely besot with myself, and completely over my kids meltdown, it hit me…” You crazy bitch, calm down. It’s PMS week” We, Ella, Abbi and myself (Sybil for the week) made it home without any real incident. That night, as I put them in bed and looked at their sweet little faces, I thought to myself, do these kids know how truly dangerous their Mama’s PMS really is? Luckily not. Normally, my husband is here to offset the true glory that is my PMS but with him gone, I was left to deal with it all on my own and it was not pretty. I spoke with my husband and let him know that I am having my beast visit this week. He is coming home, after two weeks of being gone, his response to me was ,”Oh God. Can it be over by the time I get there?” Luckily for him, I was not in the throes of the syndrome or that could of warranted him a tongue lashing to not soon be forgotten, at the very least. I have come to the conclusion through this ordeal that it should be a law of nature that once you have children you no longer can experience the “syndrome.” It truly is quite counter productive and very much as reckless and deadly as “Pills and booze”.Of course, if pills and booze were involved I believe I would be much more likable this week anyways. But alas, as does mothering and PMS not mix neither does mothering and pills or booze. As all good mothers do, I will suck it up and put on a happy face. My girls are awesome blessings and as long as I can keep that in perspective maybe I can keep the beast at bay, at least until my husband gets home:)

PMS, You may have Won the Battle but Not the War!

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