I've Had One of THOSE Days

I'm getting ready to go to bed and cry myself to sleep, but first I wanted to rant and rave here in Blogland. I've had one of those days. Everyone has them, it just feels like I'm not allowed the privilege.

First off, I have PMT. It happens to most women, usually monthly, but because I live in a male-dominated house, it's treated like "oh, she's off on one again". It's very rare that I have bitchy PMT. Ten months out of the year, I have cramps, migraine, and sore, ummmmm, well, tits to be frank. Two months out of the year, I have one day in that spell of PMT where I just feel on edge. It didn't help that I was wide awake and eating my breakfast while watching re-runs of "Diagnosis Murder" at 6.00 this morning.

Of course, today, everyone in my family was demanding something. Jack was home from school because of his black eye and related headache, but he was a little angel. That is, until he decided to go outside with no shoes on and hurt his foot. He cried and roared all afternoon because his foot was "broken". Funny, it was fine when he was out playing with his friend Cory, but as soon as I told him to come in, he was in agony.

Ricky just didn't shut up all afternoon. That child can talk for England. Half of it is gibberish, half of it is argumentative. He gives lovely cuddles in the midst of it all, but it still rattles the brain listening to it through a fog of PMT-induced bitchiness.

Malorie was typical Malorie. She's been grounded the past two days for being late coming home. So I had the Spanish Inquisition today: why was she grounded again? how long is she grounded for? does she still get her spending money? She also filled the house with nail varnish fumes. I couldn't figure out why -- I never make that much of a smell when I do my nails -- until I discovered that she and Jack had been painting pictures with her nail varnish! She also had to go outside (several times) to inform Braden's friends that she's grounded. I added another day to her punishment because it just got ridiculous.

Braden plays football on Fridays. I usually taxi him and his friends, but they at least ask me at some point in the week. Not this week. It was "I'm going out, I'll be back at 6.30 so you can take us to football." To be fair, when I told him that I might as well stamp "Taxi" on my forehead (as a part of the bitchy day), he said they'd take the bus to the leisure centre. They couldn't take the bus back because one of his friends refuses. He won't walk home either. And if everyone else says they're taking the bus or walking home, he won't go, and that leaves them one player short for six-a-side football. I said I'd pick them up at 10.00

The worst of it was overhearing Simon on the phone this morning with his friend Allan making plans to go out tonight. I could care less whether Simon goes out, as long as we have the money. But I heard him say, "I'll go out if my lovely wife will taxi". All day I waited for him to do one small thing: just ask me to taxi. That's it. That's all I wanted. I never got it. I was told that I needed to have his dinner ready when he came in from work.

So, I had to get the kids fed, sort Simon's dinner out, take him to pick Allan up, drop them off at the pub, come home and stop the kids from killing each other, go pick Braden and his friends up, come home and stop the kids from killing each other, go pick Simon and Allan up, come home and take a shower because it was too late to colour my hair -- something I've had planned for two days now.

When I tried to explain to Simon a little while ago why I am the way I am today, it didn't change anything or make it any easier. I got two statements from him: "You're going to make me feel guilty" and "Fine, I won't go out anymore". I apologised for being a bitch, and he just glared at me in silence.

He completely missed the point.