Great week, pissy mood. Guess I'm just spoiled.

After deciding that San Francisco was too far for UberDad's aching back to travel in the car, we took off with my mom on Tuesday for Santa Barbara. My sister Lindsay met us there for a few days of lounging by the heated hotel pool and the beach, eating out, shopping, and taking the kids to the zoo. The weather was perfect, as always. Scott and I both finished "The Deathly Hallows" while we were there, taking turns reading and swimming with the boys.

We, sunburned and dreading the 100-degree weather of home, returned Thursday night to find our new iMac set up where the old Dell had been, and the old Dell set up and ready to go in the boys' playroom. Thanks, Brad!! Now I'm just trying to figure out how to use this thing. It's been years since I was Mac-proficient. The learning curve is steeper than I was expecting. But I'm determined. Just give me time. I'm hoping there'll be more of it since the boys are happily occupied on their own computer now. 'Course, I'm still competing with UberDad, who's so thrilled with the improved picture quality of WoW that he seems to have forgotten that he said he was buying me an iMac.

I've been composing an Ode to Harry post in my head all week, because I really do love those books, and had been on a high since finishing them. Except that PMS hit hard this morning, and I've been grumpy ever since. Suddenly the heat is more than I can bear, the breakfast dishes are overwhelming, the backyard is a depressing wasteland of dead perennials, the baby wants to nurse ALL the time, and I don't even want to wear my cute new skirt to the post office drop box because nobody will see me anyway.

Okay, I admit it, I stopped seeing my therapist because I'd rather spend the money on a housekeeper or new shoes. And I really only needed counseling once a month. Well, maybe when I'm ovulating, too -- but not every month. Besides, she's an at-home mom like me, with little kids, what could she know about sanity? I did enjoy getting to let my mouth ramble on and on about my life without having to be interested in anyone else in return. And she could relate only too well to both the mundane and exceedingly important pressures of motherhood.

But so far she hasn't given me any great clues to avoiding the crash of hormones that turns me from Loving Mommy into Hateful Mrs. Hyde once a month -- sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for days. Yes, yes, I know sugar aggravates it. But who doesn't CRAVE chocolate at the moment of highest sensitivity to it? I know getting back to my yoga would help. But it's hard to lie down and relax when I'm completely irritated by stepping on the single tiny crumb left after UberDad swept the floors. So, instead, I sweep toys, laundry and extraneous pillows off the couch, pick up my knitting, and turn on HGTV.

If only there were a Book 8 to read.