Tantrums - of the grown up kind

I've been on edge for a few days now. Snippy, testy, impatient. All traits I love in myself. No, not really.

I know that part of the problem is my hormones - I feel I am losing the battle to my PMDD the last few days. Not like I used to, but I thought it was getting better than this. I knew I was in trouble when I met a girlfriend for lunch the other day and when asked what I felt like eating replied with "A deep fried salt lick dipped in sugar and chocolate."

The huge change in pressure didn't help much either - I've been much better in the headache department since we got home, but I've realized that huge changes in pressure cause the injuries from my accident almost 4 years ago to act up. Until we finally got a big storm I ached from my head, through my ear and jaw all the way down the back of my neck. While I am so thankful that the damage wasn't worse, it's still is not fun. I was bear-like, snipping at Marc, at the kids.

But underneath it I worry there is something more, some vague dissatisfaction that I can't completely shift.

I get frustrated with myself. I look at my life on paper and it's what I would put down as what I wanted given the choice in life. I have a wonderful husband (wonderful, not perfect. Not psychic either, which has made his life a little less enjoyable this week). I have two beautiful kids - even if they do seem to be little hellions lately, pushing all my buttons. I have a house we can afford, two cars that we can afford (though I had to have one towed this evening... another story). I have my health. I have friends. I have family near enough to see regularly. I have the privilege of staying home with my kids (thanks to Marc's new job).

Sounds like I should be content, doesn't it? I certainly think I should. And somehow, I am always finding something... something that feels like it's missing.

Last week we went to see a house. A house in this area (right school district) that was a single family we could afford (ish). They had done a lot of renovations - beautiful renovations. A huge master suite with a reading area (they'd knocked down a wall between a bedroom and the family room). But the basement was a fright, and a lot of the work was not at all well done (a basement bathroom with the electrical box next to the shower and no vent? Hello??). The roof looked like Farrah Fawcett's flippy hair in the 70's.

I've been thinking a lot about that house and why I thought it would make me happier than I am. I think it was the general idea of more space (though we would fill that too). But also this grown up area - a spot to call my own.

I love my kids. Really really love them. But it feels some (most?) days like there is nothing left for me - of me, of my home, of my life. I was always afraid to be a stay at home mother because I was afraid that I would disappear. And I think I am.

And who do I feel I take it out on? The kids. It's like a vicious circle - they need me so much that I feel the need to pull away, so they need me more.

This morning was a prime example... Julia (the sweet child who refused to eat her dinner last night) woke up at 5:45 am. She was STARVING (it's all or nothing with my girl). She was going full throttle. I was not caffeinated. Not a good combination.

By the time I got Marc up for pancakes at 8:45 I was being sarcastic. Wanting to run screaming for the hills (Stu woke up at 7:15 and was also go, go, go). The constant noise. Stu giving play by plays of every move of a handheld video game he borrowed from a friend. Julia speaking Ladybug (it involves a lot of loud noises made with a portion of your tongue stuck out of your mouth). I could honestly feel my blood pressure rising.

And then came my stellar mother moment of the month. I was making pancakes, and I had used spelt flour for the batter so they were a little runnier than usual. Two ran together. Marc called it a fish. So then Julia needed a fish. So I tried to make a fish. The conversation then went like this:

Me: Julia! I managed to make you a fish!!

Stu: What kind of fish Mum?

Me: Just a fish shape Stu.

Stu :Yeah but what kind of fish is it?

Me : just a plain fish Stu.

Stu: But what kind of fish Mum? Is it a goldfish?

Me : "It's just a f***ing fish Stuart!

I KNOW. Awful. Actually it was pretty funny. Marc tried not to laugh. Stu was pretty impressed with my vocabulary (don't you love how you try and teach them all this good stuff and it's the bad stuff that impresses them?). Julia just laughed because Mummy was almost doubled over. What a way to diffuse a tense situation. And then I apologized to the kids. For my potty mouth.

And as I ramble on and on in my free therapy hour here, I know it's obvious : I need more time for me, I need something to call my own. I just don't seem to be able to do it.

How do you do it?? Any advice? Because right now going back to work is sounding like a good way to get a little me time. Which I realize it really wouldn't.

Are there women who achieve some sort of balance?