Full Moon Riot: The Perils of Mothering a Werewolf

Now that this month's hideous full moon is finally waning, I feel like it's semi-safe to write about the onslaught of terror that occurs in my house every month... and I'm not referring to MY "time of the month."
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Now that this month's hideous full moon is finally waning, I feel like it's semi-safe to write about the onslaught of terror that occurs in my house every month... and I'm not referring to MY "time of the month." My husband will tell you that he comes from a long line of males whose full moon behavior was and is legendary. I first noticed the change in his behavior not long after he and I started dating... although at the time I didn't realize that it was in any way linked with the full moon. Normally a laid-back, fairly patient individual, he would morph into an irritable, grumpy, brooding man that saw the humor in nothing... and like most teenage girls probably would, I took it personally. I was sure that he was mad at me... tired of me... wanting to break up... but then, like magic, he would go right back to his usual happy-go-lucky self, and all would be well.

Until the next full moon.

Eventually I began to see the pattern, and remarked about it to his grandmother, whom I adored. She laughed and said that the High Roller must've inherited the "gene" that plagued her husband, his granddaddy, every month. She said they would go outside to look at the moon when he was unbearable, and it was always either the Full Moon or a day or so before it shined in its peak glory. As I listened in bemused horror and wondering what I was getting myself into with this realtionship, she told me that despite her husband's werewolf tendencies, and the fact that her son, my now-husband's father, had also endured the moody moon curse, that all marriages had stayed intact and the good times more than made up for the bad.

So I married a werewolf.

Which led to giving birth to mini-werewolves... Werecubs? Werepups? My normally hyperactive oldest son, Butch Cassidy, is difficult to manage on most normal days... and when the Full Moon comes into the equation, I can just about count on the few days leading up to it being a stressful, out-of-control scream-fest. That is, I scream non-stop about his wild and crazy behavior, not a marathon of horror films... although my life with these kids could pass for that some days. He bounces off the walls, is noticeably more antagonistic towards his siblings and does even crazier things than usual... and this is the kid who learned to pick padlocks when he was 4-years-old and had just gotten off restriction after being caught in shooting the mail lady's truck with a Nerf gun, sniper-style. See why I drink scotch?

Last week, his Full Moon behavior had already been pushing my frazzled nerves to the danger zone when he did something that truly stunned me... and even though it probably shouldn't, still has me laughing. Because if I didn't laugh at his insanity I would cry. After dealing with all four of the Herd members chattering, fighting, tattling, singing and making their usual car ride cacophony on our 10 minute drive to the girls' preschool, I was focusing on making it through just a few more minutes until the noise would be cut in half when the Princess and LLL exited the car. I anxiously fiddled with the radio, shouted out reminders to the girls about their backpacks, and told them I loved them as the teacher in charge of drop-off helped them out of the car. Finally, only the boys and I remained in the car. I breathed in the silence like it was pulverized Xanax, and sighed with pleasure... until I realized The Sundance Kid was laughing so hard that he was gasping for air. I pushed the brakes and turned around in my seat to see what had sent him into the giggles, and then I saw it. The kid had pulled his pants down to his knees and was shaking his rump in the back window of my SUV... IN THE PRESCHOOL DROP-OFF LINE.


Holy. Mother. Of. God. Did I mention that they attend preschool at our CHURCH? Yep. My 8-year-old was mooning people that were dropping off their toddlers that KNOW us. I'm already the mom who's scatterbrained and constantly forgetting stuff because I'm trying to keep up with everything for multiple kids... now I'm the mom of an exhibitionist. I screamed at him to stop, and started listing off all of the threats that I could legally carry out. He complied but kept snickering even as I continued to bless him out. Stunned, I called my husband and reported what had taken place... he said he wasn't sure whether he was allowed to laugh or not, but that I was paying for the behavior and sins of his werewolf forefathers... my father-in-law and his brothers have an epic reputation for the mischief they got into as kids. I wonder if those escapades were ever during the full moon?

At any rate, I never thought the full moon would compel my son to show HIS full moon to an unsuspecting mini-van mom... but I should know by now to never underestimate him.

Or the Full Moon.

Published previously here.

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