Mad Cow

I have mad cow disease. Well not the disease like the one that shows up in the UK every now and again and causes a huge beef shortage (and I am not talking about Amy Whine – sorry I mean Winehouse either). It is more like a state of mind – Mad Cow State of Mind.

I am in the early stages of middle age. Oh shush, I can imagine what you are thinking now. I will say early stages because I am only 37. In my heart I am 27 but mentally I must be about 60. The reason why I know I am going into the beginning (shush) of middle age is because the PMS has risen to a whole new level. A level that would scare the crap out of a suicide bomber if confronted by me. If you could clone my PMS stage, I would make excellent border guards or airport security personnel. Really, I mean it. Unless you have lived with me, you have no idea.

I was not always like this. I assume though I have always had horns hiding under my hair but when I was younger those only used to come out in mischievious circumstances. Now, on certain days, I wake up and they are wedged in my headboard. After I pluck myself from my bed, in case I need any assurance that they are indeed there, I just have to watch my family scatter before my very eyes as I make my way down to the kitchen to get my coffee…and scatter is what they do. The movement in the house resembles the reaction of someone shouting FIRE! in a department store. Even the cats take one look at this devilish apparition before them and opt for the dark confines of the basement.

On normal days, the idea of being confronted by a regurgitated hairball does not upset me. Make no mistake, I still don’t like it but I can cope with getting the kitchen paper towel and prying it loose from the carpet pile. And then having to mix the baking soda /vinegar concoction to get the stain and the smell out is no biggie. But…on a PMS day…well that is a whole different ball game.

The laundry too, gets me annoyed on normal days. On PMS days it gets me fired up and ready to shoot projectile undergarments at whoever crosses my path. This last weekend I could feel the PMS coming on – it was gnawing away at my happy disposition with every step I took, and with every word I spoke. Things were increasingly irritating to me. I tried to distract myself by baking, cooking grand meals, shoveling the driveway and doing the paperwork in the house. But nothing could stop the flow of the torrent that was about to engulf me. Then, hubby turned around and asked me why I was not cuddly…you could feel my eyes piercing through his skull as he sat looking at me wondering what he had just done. Just an innocent question in his mind. But to the Mad Cow, an indictment of failure to be the hostess, mother, and the sex kitten all rolled into one! Do I need this, I asked myself as I got dressed to go the supermarket at 8am on a Sunday? I flashed another look at Mr Cuddle Bunny who by now was regretting ever looking at me let alone opening his mouth.The rest of the day was spent with me being fine with the kids, and awful to the man that of course, in my mind, started this all.

Monday came and all and sundry were relieved at having the option of being else where for the day. The kids bounded off to school with relief that their teachers had to be friendly and helpful. The idea of a budget meeting made Cuddle Bunny dash into the shower and leave for work early with a joyous expression. I was left at the kitchen table to wallow in my self pity and to ‘get it out of my system’. The cats weren’t taking any chances. The came up from the darker nether room and seeing me in the kitchen cursing the clogged drain, retreated down the stairs again.

But one day alone can do wonders. That combined with my paranoia that the last words spoken should never be ones of anger, finally gets the buzzing to disappear in my head and I send out a flurry of emails proclaiming my love and humblest apologies. I did also mean to add in there that the apologies are sincere. They really are. When collecting the girls I purposefully do not wear my winter hat so that they can see the horns are no longer there and all is well in my little world again. My ears might be red and frostbitten but the horns are gone.

So now I am getting myself sorted out with ski holidays. I have reached a stage in my life when I have to take counter measures to ensure I stay sane. And married. I am going to tackle middle age with a vengeance and the only one quaking in my path will be that bloody little devil with the extra set of horns…

(starting a crazy mama ski holiday blog too)


~ by ski holidays on June 15, 2009.

9 Responses to “Mad Cow”

  1. ROFLMAO omg you know the one thing you def have is talent, talent for writing and your sense of humour omg tff!

  2. Thanks for the compliment…but as funny as what this sounds it is SO TRUE it is scary!

  3. […] last few days I have had Mad Cow Disease. And if you know me, you KNOW, do not pick a fight with me now or say stupid things that are going […]

  4. […] Oh man, mad cow disease is an awful thing…and I do not mean the real cow kind, I mean my kind. When it feels like I […]

  5. Okay baby… Whatever you say… We also know Rule #1: If mama ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy!

  6. @ AA – ain’t that the truth…

  7. I love your post. Hope it gets better…

  8. @ coachlydia – is better already! thanks for the visit!

  9. Wow! Really. Articulate. AND THANK GOD I AM NOT THE ONLY MAD WOMAN out there. I have learned to prep myself and my husband for the few days before I go crazy so that we all survive more or less intact. That and exercise seems to help 🙂

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