I Suppose I Could Have Stayed Home And Baked Cookies

Do you remember during Bill Clinton’s first term, in response to a question about her past, Hillary Clinton said “I suppose I could have stayed home and baked cookies and had teas, but what I decided to do was to fulfill my profession.”

At the time, I completely supported her statement and thought the backlash from certain women’s groups was unfair. She was a strong smart woman and what she had meant was that she chose to pursue her career instead of being a home maker. What was wrong with that? Good for her I thought.

Well, now life looks a little different. In the last seven days, I’ve made at least eight dozen cookies and I love going to and having ladies teas.

What the hell happened to me? I went from being an ambitious lawyer climbing up the career ladder with both hands and both feet on fire to spending an entire afternoon making the most awesome snowman cookies EVER with my sons!

Reason number 1 I’m not a fan of “the season”

I’ve mentioned before I don’t care too much for the holiday season.

It’s just a big mess to me.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a lot of holidays, but the “holiday season” is just a long, dragged out hooplah to me.

Although many people consider it beginning at Halloween, which is ABSOLUTELY AWESOME. But after Halloween, it has it’s highs and lows. Namely Thanksgiving. Boring. Nothing good. No candy. At least Christmas has presents and New Year’s Eve has chocolate and cheese fondue.

Growing up, the holiday season was always a bittersweet experience (except Thanksgiving because, like I said, nothing good came out of that) for me. We got awesome goodies, but for a price. All day there was much to do, always so much to do. Much cleaning and helping out. I absolutely detested it.

Ugh, there was just so much to do. And being the youngest? Eventually all my siblings trickled out…and there was only me. For a time.


I am walking into a building, leaving the warm, fall sunlight behind me. Down the stairs into this cellar like auditorium. My mother is beside me, my sister is behind us, Chris is in front with Caitlin and my brother Patrick is angry with me for some unknown reason.

We are dressed up in suits and dresses as we take seats in the very back row, my father is sitting on the stage while my brother Steven walks around the room, giving an introduction.

In front of us are two men I graduated high school with. Why they are there, I do not understand. Because it’s my father? Because they are interested in this announcement we are here for? They recognize my brothers and speak to them as if they are old friends.

My brothers were graduated long before the introduction of these two gentlemen in my life and they were never anything more than classmates. Kinley is sitting in my lap and Caitlin is now in her own seat, enjoying her freedom.

Steven walks behind us and talks and finally introduces my father. He smiles eagerly as my dad walks to the podium, returning his smile. He knows this secret, he knows why we are all there.

Scary nights-otherwise known as, When Google fails, Twitter succeeds

Last night was, without a doubt, rough. Personally, I think panic attacks are completely overrated, but that’s just me. I don’t happen to enjoy the “oh-my-god-I-can’t-breath-what-the-fuck-am-I-gonna-do??” moments that tend to surround motherhood, which then are closely followed by mommy guilt. Seriously, it was awful.

For an almost two year old, Caitlin hasn’t had many instances of falling. I can only think of three actually in which there was mass amounts of crying; once when she was an infant and she rolled off the bed when Chris was watching her while I was in the shower and didn’t realize she rolled, once when she fell out of her swing because Chris didn’t strap her in or snap the tray in all the way, both of those she was rather young, an infant-ish age.

The final time was when we first moved in this house and she fell down a couple (not the entire flight) of the stairs on her way down. Yes, there have been bumps and scraps here and there, but those are the only ones I’ve ever actually been present to care for her afterwords. She’s never been seriously hurt, the falls just scare her more than anything while she does get maybe a slight bump.

But last night was completely different and it terrified me…

In which I rant about insurance again

I have had it. Seriously, I’ve just had it. Yesterday was the final straw.

I’ve mentioned the troubles with my insurance company before. In the (not even full) year we’ve been with them they have lost faxes, called my husband a liar, lied about sending paperwork to the appropriate sectors to get claims fixed and so on. That is just the issues we’ve had on the phone with them. They also don’t cover shit.

They don’t cover the any of the cost of Chris’ Concerta, which is why he had to switch to Ritalin. And the insurance, as it turns out, doesn’t cover much of that one either. So he opted to stop taking it all together. And if you’re married to someone with adult-ADHD, you know how difficult it can be…I mean, you can only take being cut off mid-sentence to talk about something else so many times!

That’s a whole ‘nother story however. A story for when I’m about to divorce him.

Guess who’s back, back again?

Pua’s back. Tell a friend. Guess who’s back, guess who’s back, guess who’s back….

Yes, yes indeed. And boy does it feel good. I just had to take a little hiatus and get my head screwed on and wiggle myself into feeling normal. That hasn’t happened yet, but I haven’t been drinking heavily, so it evens out, right?

Just kidding about the drinking part.

I mean, I don’t drink heavily.

All the time.

So what’s good in the hood, ‘yo? I would just like to give a HUGE thank you to all of you out there in Twitterverse and Blogsphere who have sent me the lovely emails checking in on me throughout the weeks and giving me your love and “miss yous” and for checking back EVERY DAY to see if I’ve written anything and keeping this alive. Thank you. It means the world. If I could bake a dozen of cookies for all of you, I would, but that’s a lot of batter.


I am sitting on the small green couch, cross-legged, with my fingers covering my eyes.

I take a deep breath and begin to count…

I can hear it then. Footsteps and giggles as she attempts to find a hiding space. I hear her run through the kitchen, socked feet padding against the linoleum. Stop. Clatter. Splash. And then more running. Socked feet pounding hard against carpet. Jumping. Running. Giggling.

Working Man

You know what sucks? Chris working two jobs. I’m pretty sure we’re both in agreement that it sucks pretty bad for both of us. For him, because most weeks, he is working 7 days a week, and on the weekdays he works 16 hour days. For me, because when we agreed he would get a second job, I (graciously) agreed to relinquish him from all house hold duties. That means every diaper change, every early morning wake up, every bath time, every bag of garbage, dish, what have you, is all me. Every household chore is my sole responsibility. Not that he did much, to be honest, but I have agreed to stop nagging him to do any of those things. And I can successfully say, I don’t even ask him ONCE to do those things anymore. I give him the CHOICE if he wants to change a diaper, since he only sees the kids for a few minutes every morning and it seems like it would be a small bonding opportunity, but he graciously declines.

If I don’t post tomorrow, the man in my attic got me first.

So, last night I was complaining that *someone* in my house ate my spare bedtime Reese’s cup. Now, normally, I’m not a huge Reese’s fan, but over the last 26 weeks I’ve had at least 3 packages a day and if you touch my goddamn Reese’s cups, by God I will cut you.

So anyway, Reese’s cups. So my spare bedtime Reese’s cup went missing and I kept asking Chris “Did you eat it??” And he insisted that, no, in fact he did not eat it. He didn’t even know I had one, although it had only been sitting on the kitchen table since Tuesday, and I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if Caitlin got a hold of it…so I posted on Facebook someone stole my candy…

I am now positive there is someone living in our attic eating my candy and I am FREAKED OUT. Just wanna give him a big ole thanks…I really need to go refresh my deodorant, but I’m too scared to go back there now without Chris being home. I do not care if it was fake. I do not want to hear your explanations. There is something up with crap going missing in this house and that is the best solution. I really don’t think a ghost wants my bedtime Reese’s. There is someone living in my attic. So I will sit here in my stinky hormone and 90 degree weather induced sweat until he gets here in an hour and a half. And then I will beg him to inspect the attic thoroughly after I make him watch said video.

Here’s to you man I believe to be living in my attic.

First, I would like to extend an apology to the creepy man I believe to be living in my attic. I blamed you for my missing Reese’s, when in fact, it was in my car. And I’m sure you’ll read this because when you do come out the attic, I’m sure you also use my laptop. Why wouldn’t you, considering it just sits on the arm of the couch all day and night turned on with no password protection. But I swear to god if my husband has to fix it because you put a shit ton of spyware and crap from all your nonsensical downloading, I will go up there and kill you.

So now, when I accidentally download something I probably shouldn’t have, I can blame the man I believe to be living in my attic. And Chris won’t be mad at me, instead he’ll be mad at him, because I specifically told him not to do that.