Yesterday was one lousy day. Nobody died and no one was hurt. Nothing tragic happened. But, I was…let’s see, how can I put this delicately for you male readers? Let’s just say, I was…hormonal.

Something has happened since I entered my late thirties. Something bad. For a couple of days a month, I turn into an evil woman. I yell, I fight, and every, little, minuscule thing irritates me. I am supremely grumpy.

On many levels, I feel like a female version of Bruce Banner turning into the Incredible Hulk. There are moments, during these dark days, where I would bet money my skin was turning green. And, I’m pretty sure that I snarl and spit when I talk.

My two, poor children bear the brunt of my vicious Mrs. Hyde. I yell about toys being all over the house, shoes being left in the hall, wet towels on the bathroom floor, and kids who take too long to eat their dinner. That is to say, I get mad about normal stuff which happens every day.

But, on hormonal days, I can’t even stand the normal stuff. I become a raging freak, and what’s really bad is that I KNOW it, yet I can’t stop. For those one or two nights a month, my kids don’t even argue if I send them to bed early.

Last night I desperately tried to lighten the mood. After I grumbled about picking up some clothes off the floor, I sang, “I am grumpy. I am grumpy…” (To the tune of Frère Jacques.)

And, from the other room, my nine year old daughter was brave enough to finish the verse with, “Yes you are! Yes you are!”

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I was reading my son a book, when I suddenly thought how cute he looked. I smothered him with a great, big hug, then I asked, “Do you know why I am the luckiest Mommy in the world?”

He replied, “Yeah! Because you get to vacuum!”

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My nine year old daughter loves to send and receive e-mail. It doesn’t even matter if that e-mail comes from someone in her own household. Someone who, instead of typing a few paragraphs, could say the same thing from across the room. I envision her as a teenager, sending text messages to friends seated right next to her.

For the fun of it, she sent my five year old son a message last night, and knowing she would be happy to get a reply, I got on the computer to help him.

I told my son, “We’re going to send your sister an e-mail.”

As he climbed up on a stool I asked, “What do you want it to say?”

And, there should be no doubt that he is his father’s son, because he replied, “Tell her to get a job.”

Though, I don’t think she would earn much of a paycheck, because I can’t even get her to pick up her socks.

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One of my sisters had the family over for Easter dinner yesterday. Two more of my sisters came in town for the get-together.

I only get to see them once or twice a year, so I brought plenty of toys for my five year old son to play with. I wanted him to stay busy so I would have a chance to visit. But, I made the mistake of thinking my nine year old daughter could keep herself entertained.

Shortly after dinner, she told me she was bored. So, I was relieved when my nephew asked her if she wanted to go to the basement to play Guitar Hero.

Of course, I was quickly interrupted when she wanted me to come watch her. She used the technique of half begging, half guilt-trip. “Please Mom? Please come watch me. Just one song.”

Then I started begging and said, “I really just want to visit with my sisters.”

“Please Mom!”

I caved. “Okay. One song.”

My only request was that she make it quick.

But, that request was swiftly denied when I asked her, “What song are you going to play?”

And she replied, “I think it’s called Free Bird.”

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