Yay! The full moon is back along with the agitation it seems to bring forth in my family and me. I had a friend years ago that worked in a convalescent home and she used to tell a funny story about how the elderly residents would ramp up for the three days building up to the full moon, trying to escape, being ornery, and excessively active. Then after the moon began disappearing into its cloak of shadow, the residents would sleep for three days, giving my friend and the rest of the staff a momentary reprieve.
I really believe that the moon must have influence on our bodies, after all, it controls the tides and aren’t we are made of 75% water? Or maybe it’s a bunch of bunk that I use as a scapegoat to blame myself and the others around me for behaving like “lunatics”.
As I type, I am struggling with a stiff neck that seized up out of nowhere early this afternoon. I was doing nothing in particular, but it started to spasm and within seconds I couldn’t turn my head to the right. Then poor Greg comes home in a sour mood because he hasn’t felt well for two-and-a-half months, and in spite of numerous tests and labs, nobody can explain why. Naturally he is tired of dr.’s appointments, medications that don’t seem to work, and the nagging suspicion that there will be more medical bills and office visits before there is a resolution. Last but certainly not the least of my irritation, I have two boys running around screaming, demanding, and making messes. Pierce has gone from hot to cold about a thousand times today. One minute he’s flirty and charming, the next minute he is walking around whining with this horrible sneer on his face. Mikey is just a wild man; screaming and yelling at the apps on my phone that repeat everything he says. His focus goes out the window a couple of days before the full moon—not that he has great mind control anyway. I am pretty tough on him about picking up after himself, but today, I’ve cleaned up several times just because it’s easier than repeating endlessly: “Pick up your toys!” He gets pretty defiant. The Tom Cat app has been his obsession for the past two days, and this evening while I was cooking, he was sitting at the kitchen table playing with my phone. Getting louder and more rambunctious at the speed of light, he starts rocking around in the chair which bumps back into a floor clock I have in the breakfast nook. A ceramic rooster that I got when my grandmother passed fell down off this piece of furniture, bonked Michael on the head and hit the floor in several pieces. I was so mad! Does he have to spiral out of control every time he plays with my phone? Of course, it really hurt when the rooster hit his head, and then he gets hollered at! Thus begins the quick “I’m so sorry, mommy, I didn’t mean to do it,” followed by the screaming cry at the top of his lungs that really just makes me more angry. I try to glue the rooster back together, but I can’t get the lid off the super glue—because it has gotten glued on by said “super” glue. I give up in irritation and throw it in the garbage. (Secretly, I’m trying to make Mikey feel worse—nice, eh?) Oh wait—I did take the phone away, first. During this time, my child is pacing the kitchen teary eyed and rubbing his head. I told him to “calm down, its okay, just go sit down and eat your dinner.” I hear this little voice behind me say: “I’m still sad.” Well… That brought me back to center. I got down on my knees and took him in my arms. I found that my biggest concern about the rooster was that it might have had some value, and that’s when I had to let it go. Here is my beautiful, and, yes, sometimes naughty child so sad—I wanted to make sure he knew that he was way more important to me that any knickknack. After soothing words and many hugs and kisses, my red-eyed boy says “Can I play with Thomas again?” Really? Really?
Now, at this very minute, Michael is bugging me to do sparklers in the back yard, and Pierce is on the coffee table changing channels with Greg’s fancy remote—the last thing I need is dad walking into the room and bearing witness to this. So, I try to quell Mikey’s persistence with a loud “NO” while yanking the remote from Pierce’s raccoon grip. Pierce get’s the last word with “HEY!”
The full moon hits at 6:40a.m. Tomorrow—maybe the backside of this slope will be kinder…maybe…