I have PMS. Not right this minute. Don’t panic. But in my life. Hard core PMS.
I’m a crier by nature. And my kids are used to me crying over every single Meg Ryan movie that I’ve already watched 652 times. Don’t even get me started on “You’ve Got Mail” when she says at the end “I wanted it to be you”. Stop it. I’ll cry RIGHT.NOW. Or when no one turns their chair on The Voice. I can’t even. But my kids are used to me, and typically they just whisper to one another “Oh look, Mom is crying again” and move on. Nobigdeal. Please note that I am not usually a PMS crier. I’m more of an, everything is TOO LOUD, everyone is TOO ANNOYING, life is TOO HARD, groceries are TOO HEAVY, I am TOO TIRED FOR LIFE, people need to STOP CHEWING, kind of pms-er.
But this past weekend, I full on cried for a good two days. So much so that my daughter asked me: “Mom. Be honest. Did someone die?” Nope. I’m just a hormonal hot mess, sweet girl, not to worry.
I came up for air long enough to decorate the outside of house for Halloween, go drink Starbucks, and buy three more throw pillows.
My daughter sneaky stuck post it notes all over the house with little messages for me, in drawers, and on walls and doors, and I swear to all things holy (like Reese peanut butter cups, and gnocchi) that as I found each note, I squeezed her so tight that I worried her eyes would stay bugged out.
The notes said adorable things like “You shine bright like a diamond.” And on my sunglasses: “Your future is so bright, you gotta wear shades”. Yes, she plagiarized Rihanna and Timbuk3. But some were originals, like: “Thank you for feeding me” on the microwave. Shut up. I can so cook. She just loves microwave KD. And “Thank you for doing my hair even though I scream about it” was hidden in the hair brush drawer. What is up kids acting like their mom brushing their hair is a form of torture worse than hacking off seven of their toes and a butt cheek with a chainsaw? But if a someone else brushes it, nary a peep. The hairdresser can basically twist their head right off, and nothing. This is a mystery I may never solve.
Along with those little rays of sunshine were 32 other post it notes with different versions of I love you, and basically stating for the record, that I am the bestest, most fun, coolest mom in all the land. Sorry if you thought it was you.
One note said “You are the best mom. Even when you have PMS.” That was very strategically placed on my box of Midol. I squeezed her hardest for that one. And then took two Midol. Sometimes lies are okay.
When I tucked her into bed that night and thanked her again for being so incredibly kind, she looked up at me with her big brown eyes, and asked “Mom, be honest. Will that happen to me? Will I cry like a lunatic for two days, too?” And I said: “Yes, yes, my darling sweet girl. You will. Let’s just pray by then that I am menopausal so your brother doesn’t want to move out.”
Sidenote: Dear Bayer, I would be thrilled to sponsor Midol here on Finding Nicole. Please feel free send large quantities of Midol Menstrual, Extra Strength.