Hormones are fun, she said sarcastically.

I started getting irritable last night.  After snapping at POF during dinner prep for no good reason, I decided that I had to be hitting my PMS stride.  I could go from happy to rage in a single sentence.  Fun times.

Sure enough, this morning I had some acne breakouts on my chest.  I can deal with that.  But what’s this?  Acne.  On my scalp.  WTF?!  Okay, that’s new and not so fun.  Have you ever hit your head on a cabinet or shelf and had a sore spot?  It’s like that.  In about 4 places.  With what feels like bumps the size of a golf ball … though I looked in the mirror and they are really tiny and not huge and freakish at all.  So that’s a plus at least.

Anyway, hormone overload.  Short temper. Grrrrrrrrrrr.

I got up at 4:30, as always, to pack POF’s cooler for the day.  Now, I know there are two schools of thought on alarms.  The people that have one or two alarms on their phone, programmed to go off automatically every day as needed.  And the people that have like 30 alarms set on their phone, none automatically.  Guess which one is POF?  This makes me crazy.  I mean, how hard is it for a grown man to set a freaking alarm?  Too hard, apparently. 

I packed his lunch, and went back to lay down at about 4:50.  Because I am grumpy and hateful and want more sleep.  He woke up as I came back into the bedroom.  I asked if his alarm was set.  He said it was.  It was not.  So, when my second alarm went off at 5:30, he was still there.  Asleep.  And he was pissy because he usually leaves the house by 5:15.  Lots of muttered curses and big sighs and frustrated huffs followed.  And it was generally my fault, as it always is.  Because apparently I am supposed to ensure that he remembers to set his alarm.  Really?  You need an alarm every day.  How can you not remember this on your own?  Baffles me.  Makes me want to hit things on a good day, so you can imagine how I feel with PMS Crazy.  Seething rage is a good description.

Anywhoodle …. POF is out the door in 5 minutes.  I did get a text later to say he made it without being more than a few minutes late, so that is a good thing.  He has to drive over an hour to his work site, so he does allow a few extra minutes for traffic fuckery.

That leaves me.  Still angry with PMS Crazy.  I shower.  And, oh look.  A sty is popping up on my eye.  FUN.  Add that to my lumpy acne scalp and boob zits, and I am feeling like Quasimodo level attractive.

The Minion does not want to get up. I get snacks packed, my lunch packed, and throw a waffle in the toaster.  Holy shit.  You would have thought I’d drawn and quartered the kid over that damn waffle.  He didn't want it toasted.  See, my kid is odd in that he eats his frozen waffles frozen.  Straight out of the box.  It’s a thing.  I don’t care as long as he’s happy about it.  I have tried it myself, and they aren't half bad.  Whatevs.  Moving on.  He REFUSES to eat said waffle.  Battle of wills ensues.

Regardless of The Waffle Standoff, we manage to get dressed and ready to go with about ten minutes to spare.  So I relent and give him a frozen waffle.  He eats and we gather stuff up to leave.  By this time, we are needing to go ASAP.  Two minutes difference in departure can make the difference between a 5 minute commute to school with hardly any line and a ten minute commute with a good 10 minute line. Twice in the last week I have had to actually park and walk him swiftly to the doors so he wasn’t late because we got stuck in the later traffic.

I start to pull out of the driveway and all hell breaks loose.  He wanted the LeapPad.  It’s inside because he knows we don't do the games in the morning thing anymore.

Here’s the deal.  Before, when he was in preschool, we had about a fifteen minute drive in the mornings to the other side of town.  I would let him take the LeapPad or Nook and watch a video or play a game on the way to school.  Now that we are a mile from school, I have stopped doing that.  Drop off line is serious business, and you have to be ready to deploy like a paratrooper with military precision when you hit your mark and stop the vehicle.  There is no sitting in the parking lot for ten minutes waiting for him to finish his level or his favorite part of the cartoon.  Shit is serious when it comes to kindergarten arrival times.

Well.  I told him that he wasn't getting the LeapPad because we were already getting behind schedule and would be late.  He lost his fucking mind.  I slammed the van into park and jumped out.  PMS Crazy kicked in.  I opened that side door and jumped in, chewed him a new ass, threatened to spank him, and then got back into the front, barking orders to buckle up.  He was crying and yelling back at me.  It was not a Proud Parenting Moment.  It was a PMS Crazy Parenting Fail.  Big time.

We head to school.  I angrily inform him that this tantrums over stupid shit MUST stop.  Not in those exact words.  I was using the serious, angry mom tone. He informed me that he did not care and he was MAD at me and NOT talking to me.  Fine.  I didn't feel like talking to him.

We are inching forward in the traffic line and he tells me that when we get to school, and get to the front of the line, and he opens to door to get out, he is NOT giving me a hug and telling me bye.  And I said that was fine because I didn't feel very huggable right about then.  Angry silence ensues.

We get to school and the line is short and moving swiftly.  I tell him to go ahead and move up to the middle seat so he’s ready to jump out.  He refuses.  Says he’s not ready to get out.  I tell him that he has to because we are almost there.  We stop.  He won’t budge.  Then he bursts into tears.  Tells me he’s not ready to get out because he’s sorry and he’s going to miss me today.

Well, fuck.

Now PMS Angry turns into PMS Sobbing and I have to get out of the van and go around to the side door and try to coax him out as he’s crying.  And that is a BIG no-no.  You no NOT exit your vehicle in the drop off line.  Finally he shuffles forward and I grab him in a big hug and kiss his head, telling him I love him.  I turn around and set him down, and here comes the Assistant Principal to tell me to get into the van.  And then she sees the tears.  She stopped.  Didn't say a word.  Just took his hand and started telling him what a big fun day they were having, gently leading him toward the doors.  I called out a goodbye and jumped back in because everyone was waiting on me.  That woman deserves a cookie bouquet or something for that.  It was the perfect act of kindness that I needed in that moment.

I pulled out and headed to work.  And lost my shit.  I cried like a lunatic, then sat in the parking lot for a good 5 minutes trying to get my shit together so I didn't look like a PMS Crazy when I finally walked in. An office full of men is NOT equipped to deal with that.  Ever.

Still reeling from my emotional roller coaster, I texted my bestie.  She has two kids, so I knew she could relate.  I poured out my tale of woe.  And she knew just what to say:

Bestie:   Poor Momma. He will be okay. He will get to class and forget about the morning.

Me:        I know it. My hormones are making me crazy.

Bestie:   Find a book or bury yourself in work. It’s all good. I yell at the oldest all the time and she’s fine.

Me:        Heh.  That’s funny.

Bestie:   At least you don’t have to be PMSing with two teenage girls also

PMSing. That’s me. Poor husband.

Me:        Good Lord.  I’m pretty sure God knew I couldn't handle a girl. LOL

Bestie:   Oldest just said no aunt QoE needs boys. Haha

Me:        Yeah.  I’d be on the news if I had girls. Truth.

     I love her.  And her sister.  But I could not live with her. All with PMS.       Someone would not survive it.  I’m guessing it would be me.

     You deserve a freaking medal or something for that shit.

And just like that, I felt better.  I am still on a PMS Crazy roller coaster of emotion.  Right now there’s no coffee, and I can’t decide whether to break shit or cry.  But I know that when this day is over, I am going to go get my Minion and give him a big hug and then everything really will be okay.  Unless he refuses the hug.  Then I will resort to the Force Cuddle.  That’s what I call it when he doesn't want hugs but I make him endure them.  He actually Force Cuddled me for the first time a week ago, and it was just the best. 

I need a donut. Chocolate glazed.  This office’s survival today may very well depend on it.