Lend Me Cheney's Bunker For A Week, Will Ya??

What is it with me? Now, remember. I've warned you all. I'm PMS'ing. And there is a chain of events that unfold every month that lead to the eruption of Mt. Bitchtabitha. I don't even realize it. I truly, truly have absolutely NO control. The only thing there is to do is put your nuclear reactive suits on and brace yourselves. I feel so sorry for my family. Really. Here's what happens:
I begin to get really tired - for no good reason.
I get very moody and irritated at the tiniest infraction, slight, strange look, or touch.
I want to eat EVERYTHING in sight.
My bumbo's (connor's word for boobs) become tender.
My stomach begins to feel upset.
I start obsessing about clutter, dishes, piles of laundry, how disgusting the house is. How I can't stand to live in a pig-sty, etc, etc.
I scream at the kids and tell them, "I'm tired of it!!!!" (whatever it happens to be).
And then I begin to clean like I'm the Tazmanian Devil on crack, speed and heroin.



It's really ridiculous. I mean, people think PMS is a cop-out. But it's REAL, baby. Ask my husband and my kids. I know that I need to suck it up. But it gets so bad. I feel like it's best for everyone if I go and hide in a bunker for about a week and then re-emerge. And like I said, I don't even realize it's happening until 'it' begins. Ugh.
So, if you see my wonderful husband OR my kids. Give them a hug, a smile and a pat on the back. Tell them everything will be ok. They'll need to hear a kind word or two to get them through this.