If you are male, STOP RIGHT HERE. DO NOT READ ANOTHER WORD.
PHEW. Got Rid of Them.
OK, female Blog Readers, on with this post. TOP SECRET – I think Mozzarella Mamma is in menopause (MMiM). OH, WOE IS ME! How can it be true??? Now — why would I think that? Among other things, I have been noticing a rising sense of frustration and irritability with the whole entire world so I Googled menopause symptoms the other day and this is what I found. There are all sorts of lovely things like: irritability, mood swings, depression, anxiety, loss of sex drive, hair loss, night sweats, and fatigue, and that is just the beginning. (see Link HERE to get totally depressed)
It all started the other day when I was taking my dog, Settimo, for a walk and this lovely, friendly golden retriever started bounding, playfully towards him. Settimo is a total wimp and he tucked his tail between his legs and charged away heading straight out of the park. I had to sprint to catch him and keep him from heading out into the traffic. I caught him, put him back on the leash and dragged him back into the park. Then all of a sudden I felt my eyes filling up with tears. Yes, I was about to cry about the fact that my dog is such a WIMP that he is scared of a friendly golden retriever. (what would that be– anxiety, mood swing, or depression?)
Then a few days later I had to travel with the Pope to Albania (see Blog Post: A Trip to Albania with Pope Francis ) and the press had to be at the airport for the Papal Plane at 4:45 am. At 4:30 am I was in a taxi going to the airport with AP Television cameraman Gianfranco Stara, when all of a sudden I was steaming hot and sweaty. “Gosh, it is pretty hot for 4:30 in the morning,” I said, “can we open some windows?” Gianfranco opened a window and then told me, “Trisha, that is what we call VAMPATA.” Well, “vampata” means Hot Flash in Italian, but in that moment it sounded an awful lot like vampire to me. “A Vampata must me some sort of middle-aged, nasty, wenchy female Vampire,” I thought and contemplated sticking my pronged fangs into his neck and doing him in right then and there. (A slight over-reaction to his probably accurate assessment).
Again, this morning, out the door to walk the damn dog at dawn. When I got back home, I realized I had leftover pancake batter so I could make the girls pancakes as a surprise for breakfast. I started preparing them, and then wanted to make myself a caffe’ latte and realized there was no milk in the house. The frustration, irritability started rising up again. Damn it, why isn’t there any MILK??? So I grabbed my purse and headed out to get some milk telling my daughter Chiara to turn over the pancakes. I returned 15 minutes later and as I came up the stairs of our building I could smell the burnt pancakes. I charged into the smoky kitchen and looked at Chiara and said, “YOU BURNT THE PANCAKES!” — the frustration, anger and irritability was rising up inside me again, and Chiara looked at me and said, “yeah Mom, chill, we’re still going to eat them, and you should be thanking me anyway for making them.”
At that point I had a choice — go VAMPATA on my daughters or repress that MMiM anger. So I repressed it by sitting down at the table and eating four burnt pancakes with strawberry jam and maple syrup on them.
If I am going to be a VAMPATA, I might as well be a fat and happy one.
POSTSCRIPT: I’ve actually been working on a serious post today on the Synod on the Family at the Vatican and once I get over being in a grouchy mood, I will finish it and post it.