Red Oaks and PMS

Rest Day = Mess Day

Last night I finished Red Oaks, a brilliant Amazon Prime original series. I was smitten from the get-go, and by the end, completely enamored. The characters are so likable. Misty, looks exactly like Chelsea Handler, she'd be perfectly cast as Handler in a reboot of the My Horizontal Life TV show or as the starring role of a Lifetime Unauthorized Chelsea Handler Biopic.

I'm surprised how much grief this show gets from critics. I think critics should appreciate a comedy that doesn't rely on sarcasm thats served up so heavy handedly in most modern comedies. I found myself crying during the season finale because the father-son dynamic was so touching.

It's not hard to bring me to tears this week. I'm the walking poster child for PMS. It all started on Friday when a woman closely resembling a mole, called me an idiot in the grocery store parking lot. She waddled off with a Frappacino in hand, and I started breathing heavy, trying to hold back tears, but they came. I think I cried because I didn't quickly reply, "Go eat a dick," and felt like I failed in defending my honor. After telling my sister what happened, she told me, "You need to tell people like that to fuck off." I agreed, further acknowledging my shortcoming.
After talking to my dad, who said, "Some people in this world are grouch monsters. She took her bad day out on you." I was happy I didn't call her a miserable cunt because, even though my kids were oblivious to tears streaming down my cheeks, they would have undoubtedly heard me throw out some off the cuff potty language, and I'd be constantly reminded of it as I tried to convince them to stop screaming "CUNT!" whenever we're out in crowded, quiet places.
I'd blush, nervously saying, "Reclaim that words. Ha, ha," while power walking us back to the car, to go home, where we'll be quarantined until "cunt" is wiped from their memory. "I think you mean shunt!"
I'm just waiting for flow to get to town because my emotional depth is rubbing off on the kids, and making them act even more erratic. Yesterday we had a relaxation day because everyone was easily sent into a tailspin of hysterics. Kiki spent most of Sunday in her room crying, "I hate the word no!" and I'd poke my head in and remind her, "We don't say 'hate,' Kiki!" which would make her scream more. And George has a cold, making his tantrums snot filled. I'm constantly finding him standing on a wobbly side table that stands four feet tall in the corner of the living room. "This isn't the circus!" I say to him, picking him up from the table, causing him to convulse and scream. I have to lay him on the floor and walk away. He doesn't really know what the circus is, which might be making him cry so hard. The unknown can be so sad... Oh my, I'm starting to well up again.

Yesterday, our rest day, I felt like Wheeler in Red Oaks, wrangling his brothers and sisters before sending them off to summer camp. Rest day equates to me following the kids around cleaning up epic messes. Luckily, cartoons stop everyone in their tracks. We baked cookies, made soup and worked on halloween decorations. Kiki doesn't like any instruction, so her ghost looks like barf spray of Lisa Frank. Needless to say, it's a masterpiece.
Sadly, I binge watched the entire season of Red Oaks in two days, and now have to wait an entire year for the next season. Although, I think it's far better to have all episodes available at once, rather then being fed them one a week, it's such a bummer when the season finale ends. The 365 days till next season seems like an eternity.
Who am I kidding, season two will be here before I even realize it. Time goes by so fast. So fast. I should have had my kids at twenty, so I'd have an extra decade with them... Tissue! I need a tissue!

Our Ghosts, left to right, George's, Kiki's, mom's.