Does Dr. Phil Do Hormone Therapy?

Well it's still cold down here in "sunny" Florida. It's gotten so bad that I've become accustomed to wearing my Uggs to bed at night. I had a $400 electric bill last month so I'm opting not to turn the thermostat above 60 this month. It's a little hard to bear around here since we do live in Florida and that means the kids think it's t-shirt and shorts weather year around. I'm the one that looks a bit out of place with my 3 shirts, a sweater, jeans, Uggs, and a sweater coat on.

Nia has taken up residency in my bed at night since all the cold weather started. She doesn't wear pajamas and uses me instead as her source of warmth at night. I cannot tell you how much fun it's been at night waking up constantly cause she constantly kicks the covers off - all 4 of them? Hence my need to wear Uggs to bed.

Did I mention she is the worse bed hog ever?

How one little four year old can take over an entire king size bed is beyond me; but she does! I wake up each morning on my solitary one foot edge of the bed, and she is sprawled out - eagle style - with her feet stuck in my ribs and her head near the other edge of the bed.

Now you know what my womb felt like when I was pregnant with her. No wonder I have stretch marks from this one.

On top of the weird cold weather we're having down here, my twins are tweens and getting to embark on puberty; especially Nadia.

SCREEEEEECCCCCCHHHHHHH!!!

Yes, life is coming to abrupt halt since the arrival pre-puberty. Now my son isn't so bad, but OH MY GOD - his twin sister, Nadia, is about to drive all of us completely nuts around here!

How this child can be so incredibly nice to her friends and their parents and then come home and turn into a female version of Darth Vadar is beyond me. Is this the way we women were when we were about to start that time? I don't remember it, and am I having pre-puberty amnesia because of it? Right now, I compare her in-home personality to that of an animal that eats its' young.

One moment, she is pleasantly playing makeovers with her younger sisters and the next, we are all coward in the hall closet throwing raw, red meat out the door at her to calm her. As we hear her fangs ripping it apart, we quietly toss a coin to decide if it's safe to come out again.

One moment she is in the kitchen laughing and joking around with Julian; the next, she is belittling his own personality to the point that he is so small that I'm calling to one of the other kids to bring me a magnifying glass so that I don't manage to sweep him up with a broom.

Someone said that if you want to see how your children behave, then look in the mirror (that was my father who said that, to be exact).

OH. MY. GOD. (again!)!

Is this how I am during those hormonal times of the month? Is this all my daughter got out of my usual jovial and joking manner? All my 12 years together with this child has been reduced to those 1-2 weeks of the month where mommy needs to be locked in a closet of her own.

WHAT about all the other times we had together? Does that not account for anything else in her personality?

I need a Dr, Phil intervention here!

Nadia is a good kid - a strong kid who has overcome some difficult obstacles in her life. Like the fact that she was never "discovered" until I was 27 weeks pregnant. Boy was my OB out to lunch! I had to tell her that I was pregnant with twins. All that time I was talking to Julian and not Nadia. Makes me think that part of her issues right now is the fact that she was "left out" until her energy became so strong inside of me that is was impossible not to notice her. Yeah, I even figured out she was a girl before the ultrasound confirmed it.

I remember when she had Bell's Palsy at age seven and walked around for weeks with the right side of her face hanging down to her knees. She worked right along with her father and I to correct it and today there's not a trace of it left.

We were told when she was born that she would most likely have asthma by the time she was three. Till this day, she has never had a trace of it even though she is susceptible to allergies coming and going.

She's had to constantly live in the limelight of her extroverted brother as he got all the outward attention because of his humorous nature. She finally switched that around these past few years and has emerged a social butterfly from her normally introverted self.

She's even taken in stride (well... kinda), the fact that her younger sisters constantly want to take over her room and all the contents in it. She has learned the art of compromise as a result.

She's amazing in the kitchen, charming with Nia, and she's cleverly quick-witted.

So who the hell is this person living with me now?

Oh yeah - it's HORMONAL HARRIET

(said in a loud, booming voice with scary music all around)!

Holy freaking cow! How did I miss this upcoming event in all the books I read? Could it be that I was still stuck on "TWINS - The Early Years", portion of the books. So I'm in denial about my kids growing up like every other mother, but this came at me way too fast!

"I cannot tell you the joy I feel right now at the thought of maxi pads and Midol flying all through my house and consuming every shelf of every closet cause I have birthed THREE GIRLS from that same womb that causes all these hormonal issues!!"

Now with those three girls comes three sets of hormone-laden personalities COMBINED with my hormonal, neurotic personality, and you have the whole neighborhood wanting to leave the area for those "special" times of the month. It ain't gonna be pretty around here in the near future!

More joy is setting in!

What can I say? Nadia's hormones are getting out of control and she's too young to medicate them. What is a mother to do?

• Do I gently file her fangs and 12 inch claws when she's in one of her moments of ripping emotional flesh from our fragile ego's around here?

• Do I sedate her with mounds of chocolate during one of her moments, only to have it show up on a possibly acne-covered complexion which could cause the situation to get worse?

• Sedate the rest of the family so that we can live with her during these moments of hormonal distress? (I'm for that one, LOL!)

• Seek the higher counsel of a pediatrician who will only tell what I already know: "Flood her with love, kindness, and compassion during these trying times in a girls life until it makes you and your family fall over dead on the floor!"

"YOU must LOVE HER"

"No, I can't do it - she's MEAN to me!"

"Hug her and tell her you LOVE HER!"

"No! I can't do it - she bites!"

"Grab her by the shoulders and tell her you LOVE HER and you UNDERSTAND her feelings!"

"No! The last time I did that, she knocked me to the floor, showed me her fangs, and droooooled on my head! WAAAAAA-HAAA-HAAA!"

"DAMN IT WOMAN - SNAP OUT OF IT! YOU are a MOTHER who screamed like a Hyena in heat as you were giving birth to this little miracle! NOW GO LOVE YOUR CHILD!"

*whimper* *whimper*

"okay."

Now that's all we know to do when our children are in dire hormonal distress. Each one is different; therefore, each one will deal with this time in their lives on their own unique level of understanding.

Taking NO prisoners as they go!

We learn to dig real deep while they're in this temporary (hopefully), Dr. Jekyll - Mr. Hyde syndrome. We bring all that parental love to the forefront of our completely exhausted, emotional self, and we....... love them immensely for the truly wonderful gifts we know them to be.

Then we rationalize everything by blaming this all on Satan, and Eve with her stupid obsession with that damn apple (???) in the Garden of Eden. It's all their fault!

Life resumes as normal and I go on living in denial that my little, 4 pound - 10 ounce baby twin girl, Nadia, is growing up into a gorgeous independent woman with thoughts, feelings, and ideas of her about the world around her.

That is until I look down and find her gnawing on my ankle again.

Now where did I put that book on boundaries?

Reaping What You Sow - Ok, NOW I Get It!

So I'm going through that hormonal thing again, and I feel it reeling me in for another week long "whoa is me", episode.

"Not this time!", I'm thinking to myself.

Since last night I've been trying to figure how to snap myself out of this one with out reluctantly heading to a doctor for a symptomatic cure. I'm sitting out in the backyard this morning having my morning coffee and trying very hard to stay away from (hide on), the computer today. I'm looking over at my so-called garden that I've been piddling with over the past few months in hope of seeing something - anything - grow from the half-dead seedlings I planted.

Seriously! I planted all these organic herbs, tomatoes, peppers, purple and green beans, yada, yada, yada; and nearly all of them died! So what I had left, I've been trying desperately to keep alive.

Well.... not really, it would seem, since all those weeds are there.

Let me tell you, in a family of farmers, I was the only one born with a black thumb instead of green one. If there is a way to kill a plant without trying - I can do it!

So looking over that measly ragtag group of vegetation, I decided it was time to weed again. I won't tell you the last time I did some real weeding other than a few pulls here and there, of the "pod people" clovers that quietly weave their vines under the soil and then spring up everywhere. There like that crappy centipede grass that we have; all over the yard and serving absolutely no purpose whatsoever other to make the color green appear on my lawn!

So I began to weed... dig...... and weed. Then I'm onto hoeing some of the tougher ones out from around what herbs I have left and the experimental sweet potato plant my son plopped in a couple of weeks ago.

Wouldn't you figure! His sweet potato plant is doing far better than all of the shit combined that I planted!

45 minutes into this, I suddenly have one of those "Ah-HA!", moments. The neglectful weeding of my garden is exactly how my mind and soul feels at this moment.

I came to realize that life is just like gardening; you literally reap what you sow! Well " Duh!", you say!

Let's just say I'm one of those who has to learn the hard way instead of just taking someone's advice at, say...... age 18!

Like my garden, I have planted some good stuff in my life. On the other hand, I have neglected removing out the little shit weeds. They have grown bigger and overshadowed what is life giving to me and my personal garden.

The more I weeded my garden, the more I felt the weeds of my soul and mind being ripped out as well. I started planting some other seedlings that I was about to give up on, but decided they needed a chance to live as well. I was coming alive too and feeling joy return to my heart.

My kids were looking out the kitchen window as if their mother had gone mad as I was flinging dirt, weeds, and encroaching centipede grass from my garden. Soon they came out just to "watch". Then they were following me around with the bag of gardening soil and a spade; not asking what to do and not speaking much, but just watching me, then mimicking. Soon they were anticipating what I needed done before I even did it.

They eventually got the nerve to ask if they could help. Isn't that what they were already doing? There my little troopers were, waiting and ready to do as requested cause I think what they observed had finally surpassed the "mom's working" mentality they had going, and zoomed right into plain fascination of what I was trying to accomplish.

I saw it as my "self" was healing and my children were responding to their mother coming back to the land of the living.

Soon we were all hoeing, replanting elephant ears, planting more tomatoes and peppers, parsley, and something else that I started from a seed but don't remember what it was..... but I planted it anyway!

It was getting hotter and I found myself constantly in the kiddie pool bathing my face, arms, and legs with cool rain water. It suddenly took me back to a time when my grandfather got up before the sun, religiously every morning, to tend to his garden. Now I finally understood his passion.

Gardening is not just physical work that one should loath. It is an outer representation of what is going on in the inner shells of our body. Gardening is a way for me to release the weeds of my life that have accumulated through neglect and oversight. It is a way to let the good stuff grow while managing the unwanted and uninvited weeds that constantly want to creep in and take over those good plants.

I was filthy dirty when I was done some three hours later. My once white tank top was now covered with the earthly black of gardening soil, as were my now wet denim bike shorts. I was covered from head to toe in dirt, grass/weeds, and the sweet smell of sweat because I was smart enough to put deodorant before I started this whole process.

But I was happy and feeling alive for the first time in two days. I had discovered something that had been under my nose all this time without having me rush to a doctor tearfully pleading him for some drug to make it all go away (which, by the way, I was very close to doing).

My garden was just that drug. It would leave me with no other side affects other than dirty fingernails, a sense of pride and accomplishment, and a great need to take a long hot shower.

Come to think of it, I haven't seen any of those side affects listed in an anti-depressant commercial of late.

Who wants to weed?!

Dealing With Life and Hormones...... Again

So I've pretty much been on a writing hiatus for a little over a week. I have been stuck in my hormonal zone again. You think after all these years that the hormones would let up after a certain age.

But NoooooooOOOOOoooooo!

Somewhere in the 40-something range, they decide to kick in for one last hurrah that last for another several years until..... BAM, everything stops and you age about 15 years overnight. By that time if some random body part has not sagged to your ankles yet, then this is the time that it does. Whoever coined the stupid phrase that your forties are the new thirties must have been male or either had every crucial female part surgically removed before they were 30.

I like the fact that I have to still deal with everyday life while a rather large black cloud follows me everywhere I go. I have fallen way below being pessimistic during this time. To me, it feels like the world will literally blow up in a matter of hours. This is why I no longer watch the news. Hell, I was bawling like a girlie man while watching the complete unravelling of a somewhat happy family on "Jon and Kate Plus Eight", the other night. I went into my bathroom afterwards and continued to cry while managing to balance on the edge of the tub, cause my balance just sucks these days.

Of course my absolutely wonderful kids are following me around constantly asking if I'm alright and if they can do anything for me. "Yes!", I say. "Remove these stinking hormones from my body!", I plea. You know I am completely stupid if I am asking my kids to remotely understand anything to do with hormones. In fact, I'm scaring the shit out of my soon-to-be 12 year old daughter. She completely loathes what's in store for her no matter how much I try to make a joke of the fact that mini/maxi pads always feel like your walking around with a wad of toiled paper strapped to your hoo-hoo.

But regardless of what is happening with me and the chemical cocktail oozing throughout every cell in my body; there is a life to live here. Not just mine, but five others in the house as well. This is why the other cliche' "Supermom" came about. It was a mother's ability to still raise a family while her natural body functions were completely out of control every month for one to two weeks at a time. Let's see some male - any male - do THAT!

So on my to-do list is getting the twins ready for sixth grade when they haven't even finished fifth yet. Does this sound as crazy as my hormones or what!? I have to attend a meeting at the middle school when I would rather be dressed in my sweats and making mounds of homemade macaroni and cheese and eating it in my closet. I get dressed up and muster up some excitement to hear about what they'll be involved with next year. My little babies are so growing up way too fast.

Well, add black cloud number two to my life as I sneak into the back after being so fashionably late (husband was late coming in from work). For the next hour I become consumed with budget cuts, teacher cuts, program cuts, club cuts, the fact that there is only one art teacher left for 200+ students, and the states top rated band instructor is retiring and "hopefully" there will be someone who can pick up where she's left off.

I feel like an ostrich that wants to stick their head in the closest sandpit in order to hide from all this. I was really disappointed until I saw my next door neighbor and she said that they were actually not going to loose that much. Apparently, budget loss went from $10 million to $2 million, and no one thought to inform anyone conducting the meeting about this very large change.

I see a little ray of sunshine emerge suddenly.

I was all set to pull the kids out of school and start them on a vigorous routine of homeschooling until I saw her. Common sense finally kicked in as I decided to wait it out a bit before jumping into something so completely NUTS at this point of my life!

But then the next few days become nothing more than making lists for what the kids need for school in August. WAIT! What happened to summer vacation? It hasn't even started and I'm making school supply lists for the 2009-2010 school year. There are school supplies to buy, gym clothes to purchase, and band instruments. Oh, didn't I tell you that part. The twins want to take band. Luckily, I prepared for Nadia and bought her a flute a couple of years ago. But Julian wants to play the Tenor Saxophone, so I'm suppose to cough up $1800 stinking dollars as if I just happen to have it laying around in my gold plated freaking bathroom with diamond encrusted faucets!

"It will only cost you $80 for the rest of your son's memorable middle school years for this wonderful musical instrument.", the music store director tells me.

"Does it lay magical golden eggs that I can sell in order to feed my family if he gets it?", I ask the goofy smiling musical store director with hedgehog-like hair.

This is why people become stinking alcoholics!!

On top of it all, the husband decides we need to move to Montgomery. I laughed so hard on the phone that my chair slips out from under me (yes, it's on wheels), and I fall off to the right, knocking the trash can over in the process. Nia thinks I've finally emerged from my hormonal stage and is playing some game in which she joins in and starts tossing wadded pieces of paper in the air.

"Play mommy, let's plaaaay!", she squeals as she's bouncing around the room as paper is flying everywhere. Mommy is laying in the floor still laughing while her bladder, completely uselss after birthing four watermelons, is about to burst.

He's serious though, because the economy in this area is in reeeeeeally bad shape. 12 major restaurants closing, countless other food and retail establishments closing or already closed, and an economy whose main industry is construction - and we know that no one is building diddily these days! No one is hiring; everyone is laying off, so starting up a new business is.... well, quite challenging at the least. He figures it's best to throw in the towel and move closer to what he's already got going.

Suddenly, an extreme burst of anger emerges from me. It is so strong that the raging hormones go fleeing to..... well, wherever they go. I'm no longer hormonal, I am flat out pissed! He wants me to give an answer in about 30 seconds flat, about moving. I begin to remark my objections and he comes out with something stupid like "You're being so neeegaaaative!"

Negative this - I hung up on him and refused to answer his phone calls for the rest of the day. I fumed, I paced, I cried (again - I know, it's getting old), I ranted, then I finally sat down and decided to write him a long email:

Dear Husband,

No! We are NOT moving. Get over it!

Sincerely,

Your Wife

So today, everything is great. I'm getting my raised box gardens together. Went on a fabulous bike ride this morning with Nia. The sun is shining and the breeze is blowing through the old moss covered oaks that line our streets. The air smells fresh of salt from the sea.

Nia is busy separating pennies from dimes, from nickels in the floor beside me and I can breathe a sign of relief that we're staying put and my life will be normal until..... 28 days from now.

I'm Hormonal - Now Go Away!

How is that at my age, when I get a surge in hormones, they complete control my life for 2-3 days a month. This stuff just isn't normal folks. When it hits, I completely shut down. Everything becomes black, black, black, and I think that everything is going to hell in a cheap Wal-Mart's "Made In China" basket. What's worse is that I have no idea what has hit me until I'm foaming at the mouth, I feel like I'm carrying a ball of lead weight in the pit of my stomach, and I am pissed off about EVERYTHING! Then I sit down and cry because I know what I'm in for for the next few days. Pure hell and misery!

I change into a totally different person that my own family does not even recognize, and God bless them, they try hard to accommodate me through the whole ordeal. God is having second thoughts about why he brought me into this world when I get this way; so I am for the record. I am just a grumpy, moody, crabby-to-the-max, crying, hibernating in my bedroom mess! No one, and nothing can console me when I'm like this. Not even that irresistible piece of chocolate that Nadia repeatedly tip toe's into my room to give me without ever saying a word. It seems that she is the only one who relates to my plight because she knows that monthly curse will be upon her soon, and she's unconsciously telling me NOW what she'll need THEN when it does happens to her.

Either that or she's trying to find anything that will keep me from crying in random intervals.

The usual hum-drum daily tasks suddenly become a colossal behemoth undertaking. I get stuck in the muck of hormones, and I can't seem to function to wipe my own tushy in the bathroom. Well, not that bad, but you get the idea.


"Mom, what's for dinner", one of the kids ask.

"I don't know! I can't think - I hate the kitchen! I want to repaint it; it sucks! I can't cook in there, it's too dark!' "And curtains, why can't I still not find the right curtains for the kitchen?" "Why is there a glass in the sink. Can't anyone put their dishes in the dash washer?" "I can't cook until the floor is swept; where's the broom?", I ramble on and on.

"Mom, can we just get back to the discussion of dinner?", the child ask again trying to keep me focused.

"You wanna cook tonight?" I turn to say to one of the twins. *

"How about pizza mom?" one of them pleas with begging brown eyes, knowing it will be much easier to order out, than to hear me babble about cooking any longer.

"Sure, I'll call." I reply with a sense of relief that I have been relieved of one less duty to perform cause I'm doing good to even breathe at the moment. I am hormonal, and should not be in the presence of cooking utensils today. Especially when the hubby decides to chirp about why I didn't do ALL the housework in one day.

"Because today was NOT the freaking day to be doing IT - OKAY!!!!" I blurt out while foaming at the mouth as he slowly backs himself out of the room, cause I know I must be showing fangs by now.

I think I must be going through some pre-premenopausal symptoms but going to my mom for advice on this subject is pointless because she had all those important reproductive parts removed by the time she was my age and she doesn't remember going through menopause.

Thanks Mom!

By the way, you can tell you are getting older when you begin to whine about your health a lot. I'm wondering when I'll hit the "aches and pains" conversational phase of my life, while glued to that Cracker Barrel rocking chair I bought when the twins were born.

I thought getting older was about entering the "age of wisdom", not the age of "will you shut up about your hip surgery already!".

Frankly, I think the title PMS should be changed to a less politically correct, more honest description because there is nothing "Pre" about hormones happening before, during, and after, and happening every month whenever they damn well feel like it. Like:

• just before an important event in your life;
• or during a chaotic or catastrophic moment you are having with your family or neighbors,
• or after you've just won the lottery and not sure how to spend the money so you spend it all as fast as you can because freaking the hormones "told you to do it".

It should be given the new title of HCBS - Hormonal Crazy Bitch Syndrome, and every woman should qualify for FREE therapy because of it.

Where do I sign up!

*(Disclaimer: The twins are almost 12 and fully capable of making dinner because they have been trained up since they were seven to handle themselves in the kitchen. I do not leave my kids unprepared in the kitchen, and I monitor them at all times when they are cooking.
I am NOT that stupid).

Would anyone care for Squid and Eggs with a side of hormones?

This has been a most bizarre morning. I swear when I became a mother, I wasn't prepared for half the crap I go through sometimes. You read about this stuff in parenting magazines and think, "Oh my God!", and it's funny as hell until it happens to you.

It didn't help that I had a severe case of insomnia last night. I mean I didn't get to sleep until the sun starting popping it's head up this morning and those freaking morning birds start yakking outside the window. I was up all night pacing floors, watching TV, meditating, taking herbs, drinking milk; just about anything to raise my melatonin to an appropriate level to, say... COMA level! Wouldn't happen.

My mind was racing about everything, including these stupid videos my husband was watching last night regarding the types of WORMS people get. He's an acupuncturist and he's gotta know these things; but does he have to make ME watch!? Do you know how disgusting it is to watch some guy having pinworms, brain worms, or whatever the hell they were - coming out of the pores of his face! I was sure I was gonna have nightmares; but insomnia! Sometimes I really hate his profession.

I go to bed thinking I can meditate myself to sleep and about five minutes after laying down, here comes Nia. She has had the habit of crawling into bed with us at night for some time now. I don't really discourage her cause she's only three and soon she'll think she's too big of a girl to sleep with mommy and daddy. She's my last, so we allow it. But she's particularly wiggly and this further hampers any ability to fall asleep. I'm having flashbacks of many sleepless nights after the twins were born. So off to the couch I go.

So there I am with my pillows and wool blanket; it was a bit cold last night after all the storms we've had. I turn on the TV and try to find something extra boring to coax my brain cells to stop function for just a few hours - the NEWS. Larry King was discussing GM and all it's crap again, which I am so freaking tired of hearing, and Nancy Grace was on another tirade over the "Tot Mom" trial in Miami. Again, tired of hearing and not into child trials. Ahhh, Soap Operas! These bore me to tears these days, so it was a good start. After a hour and a half of All My Children, and putting the cat out at 5 am, I'm ready to snuggle.

It seems like I just fell asleep when I am awoken by someone rambling in the kitchen making coffee. It must be Julian because he wanted to get up early this morning and go fishing. I'm caught now in that area between awake and asleep when I feel the grumpies coming on. It doesn't help that it's that time of the month and renegade hormones are having a serious party in my body.

Soon Nia is awake and crawling all over me, when I realize that I haven't heard Julian leave for the pier yet. So I resign myself to get up, grab a cup of coffee, and search for him. He's in bed!

"Julian, aren't you going fishing? Get up and go cause you don't have much time left." I say, because I just passed the clock and it's already 8:30.

"Well dad got up and made me go back to bed", he says half groggily while turning over.

"Nope, get up and get ready or you won't have any time before we go to the movies this afternoon", I repeat and remembering the fiasco that happened yesterday when Kurt suddenly announced that we weren't going to the movies until today. So the boy better get up and get going!

So Julian drags himself up and makes a quick breakfast while the rest of the crew is crawling out from under their peaceful slumbers that I DIDN'T HAVE LAST NIGHT!

I'm feeling a headache starting to come on. Is it from lack of sleep, hormones, or both? Who cares! I'm heading for the Percogesic anyway. Nadia is finally up and now laying on the sofa. She is not a morning person. It takes her a good hour before she's functioning, but my husband is in the mood to have everyone function as soon as their eyes are open today. I instinctively know that this is not gonna turn out pretty.

"Nadia get up and get dressed and get some breakfast", he barks as if some drill sergeant in the army. She resists, he barks a little louder - no a LOT louder. She stomps off in a huff and then suddenly I hear a ear splitting scream from her.

"NIIIIIIAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! NOOOO YOU DIDN'T!!!!"

I cannot emphasize enough how loud this child was. The entire Asian continent heard her scream, I know. I already know before anyone says anything what Nadia is shrieking to the top of her lungs about.

See, a couple of days ago, Nadia and her friend Emily found a baby birds egg laying on the ground at the foot of a rather large palm tree in our front yard. Knowing they couldn't climb up to put it back, Nadia brought it to me and I painstakingly helped her make a small nest and create a warm environment so it could hatch. Nadia took it on as her own personal baby. She carefully turned the egg each day, and checked on it like, well...... a mother would check on her own child. I reminded her to keep her door closed (we have a child proof door knob to keep you-know-who-out), but Nadia forgot to close it when she woke up this morning.

The "midget" got to it.

I turned to Nia and asked her "where's the egg Nia?"

"Stop it mom - don't look at me!", she says with a scowl. I already know she's gotten it, and it's - gone!

"Nia, where is Nadia's bird egg? Did you go and take it from her room?", I say with a element of sleep deprived impatience in my tone.

"Stop it mom - don't talk to me!" she says while running for her bedroom.

I'm hoping that she hasn't squashed it yet and that she just has it safely hidden, but my own motherly instincts, and experience, still tell me that it's been poked to death by her little fingers of inquisitiveness. I open the door to her room and she's quick to slam it back closed in a hasty get-away - on my fingers! I manage to open the door again and there she sits, on the bed with the covers over her head. Guilt is reeking off of this child as I firmly plea for her to tell me where the egg is while holding onto my throbbing right hand.

She ain't talking, Nadia is crying like someone stabbed her to death, Kurt is now yelling at Julian cause he's burnt the oatmeal because he was staring at the TV instead, and Toni, well she's intelligently decided to simply ignore all of us this morning. Smart girl!

I'm too tired and too impatient to deal with cross examining Nia, so I turn my attention to Nadia as Kurt is yapping to her from the kitchen that it was "just an egg", while still scolding Julian over burnt breakfast.

Mommy wanted to slap daddy at that moment.

Could he not see that it was Nadia's maternal instinct crying out for her child that had been kidnapped by the rabid curiosity of a three year old? Where was his compassion - his understanding? He's more focused on burnt oatmeal than his daughters mourning over her "first child". I wanted to get mad, but half my brain is still asleep and I am only function on one cup of coffee through this. Or either I'm making mountains out of molehills. Either which, I can't tell the difference right now.

So Kurt decides to send Julian out fishing with Toni to eliminate some of the friction that has escalated to an all-high level this morning. Off they all go, to the garage to gather the fishing supplies and equipment. About five minutes later, another crisis hits the garage, the kitchen, and part of the house.

Julian has left his squid sitting in his bait bucket for three freaking days in the garage instead of putting it back in the freezer as I have instructed him to do more times than I can remember. When he opens the lid to that bucket, the stench literally hits the garage and the interior of the house connected to it, like a huge fishy stink bomb exploding!

Kurt and Toni come running into the house sporting a few shades of green and looking like they are ready to lose the contents of their breakfast on the just mopped, kitchen floor. Julian must have passed out from it because it takes him a while before he shows his guilty face at my wrath of judgment.

Everything that I have gathered for the upcoming yard sale is in that garage: sofa, clothes, pillows, massage tables, and stuffed toys are blanketed in a thick fog of three day old fish! The smell of rancid squid has now permeated all of it. HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA SELL IT NOW!!

"Hi would like to buy a colorful red sofa that gives that "just been to the beach" feeling every time you curl up on it?" I THINK NOT!!!

So I'm out there with my bottle - make that two bottles - of Febreeze, spraying that shit all over everything and it still smells like squid. At least it's "allergin-free" now! I'm out there for a good half hour spraying after Kurt puts up the fan and the garage door hoping it will just "blow away" that stench soon. I can tell the garage door is gonna be sitting wide-assed open for the next week so we can air this stuff out.

I can also tell that I need a four-shot cafe latte to get me through the rest of this morning.

So I head to Starbucks and right after I get in the van, there it is again. That damn squid smell. It has NOW leaked in the car. The car is parked right at the garage door. So when it was opened, it encased my entire car with a full blast of noxious fishy fumes. All the windows were lowered down soon after I got in, and I would have driven with both sliding doors open, but flip flops, Barbie's and booster seats would have been flying out the sides. It was already hard enough driving safely with my head fully stuck out the drivers window while trying to gasp for air at the same time, without worrying about accidents being caused by Butterfly Barbie.

I'm gonna get that boy when I get home. No! I imagine that I'll just break all his fishing gear in a crazy mother-fit of anger than makes all the neighbors run and hide in their cellars while calling the cops that a crazy lady is loose throwing fishing gear and tackle boxes, and smelly squid all over the front yard.

I get back home, get the last of the Febreeze and squirt the car down - no I SOAK the car down with the last of the bottle. Then I grab the refill and start squirting again. I go back towards the house and notice the bait bucket on the ground next to the garage door. Even though the squid is gone, the bucket is still oozing that smell and it's heading right back into the garage.

"JULIAN!!!", I scream this time. Everyone else has been screaming so I figure I should join in on all the fun we're having now.

"JULIAN, get your butt out here with a bottle of bleach and clean that bait bucket out PRONTO!", I yell a little more. I'm sure the neighbors are getting just a little bit curious themselves over what all the hoopla is about at our house.

He's giving me that guilty, sheepish-like, little boy look cause he knows he's been bad. I look over my sunglasses at him and let him know in a matter-of-fact way, that the smell is NOW in my car. He's looking a little more guilty. I think the smell is getting to as well because he's got that green shade coming on himself.

Nadia is still in the house crying over the bird egg as Kurt suddenly produces the "remains" of the egg. I don't even want to know where the rest of it is - can't handle anymore - don't want to know.

My house smells like dead fish, there is a dead bird yolk somewhere in the house, I've had absolutely NO sleep, and everyone has gone completely nuts in my family, including me.

Except Toni. For once, she has minded her own business, kept to herself and decided that life is best left to watching "The Backyardigans" instead of engaging with a bunch of half-crazed idiots this morning. It is about that moment that she decides to open a new area of conversation.

"Mom, what's wrong with the cat?", she asks with a worried look on her face.

"I don't know, what's wrong with Remi?", I curiously ask back.

She picks him up and shows me his back paw. Poor Remi has stepped on something while outside, and has a big cut on the bottom of his back paw, and he's limping around. How did I miss this? Oh yeah, I was focused on dead fish and a dead bird egg.

Before noon has even hit my plate has been full with:

• Insomnia and hormones
• Dead bird saga
• Squid-scented house, garage, and van
• Injured cat

I have sent the "family" off to the movies. I am taking another Percogesic and heading off for a much needed nap. But before I go; can anyone tell me how to rid the garage of that SMELL?