Bellatrix is in the House

Bellatrix arrived yesterday morning. Unannounced, uninvited. Unexpected. Unwanted. I finished exercising, then headed for the bathroom as usual. And lo, there she was. “Crap!” I said to myself, aloud. ‘Crap, crap, crap.” Luckily the kids didn’t hear because we’ve asked them to stop using that word so much. It gets a little embarrassing when your eight year-old yells “What the crap!” out in public, say, in the women's restroom at Barnes and Noble, where you've forced him to go because your husband is not there to take him to the men's room, and where a ninety five year old woman is washing her hands at the sink. 

But if there’s one good thing about having a period in a houseful of men, it’s the fear factor. When my husband came home from work, he didn’t smell anything cooking, which meant that I hadn’t started dinner. Not that unusual, to be honest. Instead, he found me in the bedroom, shooting pictures of flowers, rubbing my back and moaning. At once, he offered to help me with dinner. He is well versed in period etiquette. Or maybe he just has a keen sense of personal survival. 

During dinner, our middle child absent mindedly picked up and slammed down his miniature skateboard on the table. My fallopian tubes felt about to burst and my uterus pulsated with alien energy. The constant clack-smack, clack-smack of the skateboard against the table grew louder, like I was in a bad dream and that very sound was what drove me to commit various crimes that, in my right mind, I'd never even consider. Or at least never admit considering. I took the skateboard and flung it across the room. Luckily my husband has excellent reflexes and swerved to the right as it whizzed past his head. Without even pausing, my husband looked at the boys and said, “Watch out. Mom’s not feeling well." 

My youngest put down the noodle he was holding between his fingers, peering through it like a penne pasta telescope. “Sick with what?” he asked, studying me for familiar symptoms.  

“Mommy sickness,” my husband told him. The two older boys nodded. The youngest thought this one over, shrugged his shoulders and picked up his noodle again. The boys can't figure out what to do with me when I’m like this. They know that something mysterious happens in my body every month, but they’re not sure what. And I don't think they want to know the details.

“Why don’t you go lay down?” my husband suggested.

“You know, I think I might,” I said, heading to the bedroom.

(This is what I feel like during this time of the month. Although, I don't eat a lot of greens when Bellatrix comes to visit. She prefers dessert to vegetables.)

And so there I was, alone in bed, a heating pad on my lower back and a hot sack of rice on my belly. Outside, everyone else worked on a project. As I was preoccupied with my "mommy owies," they decided to have man time, complete with power tools, nails, and a hammer. From what I could make out, they were constructing a rack for firewood. I heard the saw ripping its way through something, hopefully not a finger or an arm. The saw stopped and I heard my husband’s voice, then the sound of metal grinding on cement. This meant that someone had lost interest in the project and was riding his scooter up and down the driveway. Probably the youngest, who (hopefully) would not have been allowed to push the wood through the saw. He often wanders inside at times like these, seeks me out, and asks, "Reading time?" in his cutest voice. Often he'll be holding a Beverly Cleary classic or if he really wants to get me, a Roald Dahl. But not this time. The scootering sounds continued, the voices of all three kids mingled with my husband's. A truck started up somewhere, and from the garage I heard the saw again. I didn’t know what was going on down there exactly. And I didn’t really care.

But I did know what was going on inside of me. Smoke spewed from the haystacks of my girl factory as Bellatrix cackled her orders. Frankly, I was ready to close up shop and go home. But there's no stopping Bellatrix when she's in this mood. So I closed my eyes, telling myself to dream of good things like licorice whips and lollipops. Alas, my mind dropped into darkness within seconds, without any images of sugar or carbs. In less time than it takes to sing the chorus of "Flowin' Down the River" Bellatrix shook me awake and told me to go clean up the kitchen. Or maybe that was my youngest. 

Now as I write this, I imagine what I should have dreamed about. I see my face smashed into the leg of an old pair of pantyhose, pointing a squirt gun at a convenience store cashier. "Just give me the hot chocolate and no one gets hurt," I tell the kid behind the counter. "And throw in a maple bar while you're at it," I add. 

Later, I see myself in court, explaining my motive to the judge. "My son, he was playing with this little skate board thingy, slamming it against the table over and over and over, like this." I take a tiny skateboard from my pocket and demonstrate finger Ollies, repeatedly whacking the thing against the desk in front of me.  

The judge stares at me over her designer reading glasses. "Skate board thingy?" she says, her voice raspy like my fifth grade teacher, a smoker with ashtray breath and a Jersey accent. She raises her gavel as if to announce, "Guilty as charged." That's when I blurt out, "Bellatrix made me do it." I begin to cry, wonderfully dramatic, heaving sobs. "Plus, I had really bad cramps." The judge pauses, considering my sentence. "Temporary insanity," she rules, striking the base with her gavel. She stands, and points to the guard. "Get this woman a heating pad and a chick flick," she tells him. I smile and wipe the tears from my cheeks. She smiles back, digs something out of the voluminous pocket of her robe and throws it to me. I catch it in my handcuffed hands and look down. It's a package of instant hot chocolate--with marshmallows. 

   

Comments

[chizuko]

My friend in Wyoming,(missionary's mom) has same hip problem with you and told her your DVD. She ordered and now she liked it.

[LauraB.]

You are quite the writer Susan - very descriptive. It is truly one of your special gifts and I appreciate that you share it with everyone, including me. PS I can totally relate to Bellatrix. Thank heavens that part of my life is over; however, I still have a part of her lurking in the background and she has a strong influence on my moods here and there.

[MaryB]

Oh, Susan...you make me laugh!
I'm sorry you don't feel good, though.
Call me anytime you want to have "girl" time...with or without hot chocolate and a chick flick!