All Because of Two Cupcakes

The other day, I was standing gloriously alone in my kitchen. No one else was home. Just me and the cat who I still refuse to call Clawdia. I call her “Girly Girl” because it’s the first thing that comes out of my mouth when I see her.

It’s weird. I know. Cats are weird too, so it’s kinda poetic.

So I stood alone in my kitchen, and I had in front of me 4 perfect cupcakes. Purchased for my 4 not so perfect kids. They really looked good. I opened the box. And they really smelled good. And I’ve eaten these cupcakes before, so I knew they would really taste good.

But, like a smart 39 year old mother of four who practices moderation in all aspects of her life, I closed the lid, walked away, and caught up on Orange Is the New Black before I had to pick up the boys from school.

Just kidding.

I ate one of the cupcakes.

Just half of it at first.

And, damn, that shit was good.

So. Very. Good.

Then, I thought, I’ll just put this half back, and I’ll just try this other cupcake because I bought these cupcakes for the boys, but I sorta bought this one for me.

And, mother of pearl, that next cupcake was So. Very. Very. Very. Good.

It was so good that I didn’t even stop halfway through. I actually looked at the cat and said, “Holy shit, this is insanely good. It’s a shame you can’t eat cupcakes, Girly Girl.”

And she looked away because she always looks away.

Or because I had icing on my nose.

So, then I looked at the first half-eaten cupcake, and I thought, I ate slightly more than half of that, and one of those kids is going to have a hissy when there is less than half a cupcake to eat, so I may as well just eat the rest of that one too. Then I’ll tell the boys I bought 2 cupcakes for the 4 of them to split, and won’t we all just sing Kumbaya over that.

And that was a good plan. So that’s what I did. And everyone was happy. Not Kumbaya happy, but happy.

Everyone was happy but me.

Because 2 cupcakes.

If someone else in the house had swallowed 2 cupcakes in quick succession, there would have been 20 minutes of mania, his metabolism would have run at its typical Usain Bolt speed, and then he’d chill out and we’d sing Kumbaya.

But my husband didn’t double-fist the cupcakes.

I did.

I thought and thought and thought about the cupcakes. Not because they were delicious. Because I’m a lot of things, but I’m not the girl who stands at her counter and eats 1 cupcake after another while she sympathizes with a cat she calls Girly Girl.

I thought, This is how it starts.

This is the beginning of a road I don’t want to go down.

A road that starts with two cupcakes…

…and it ends with Bob Harper.

And if there’s one thing on this earth more delicious than cupcakes, it’s Bob Harper.

So I thought about meeting Bob, and what our conversation would sound like.

Bob and I would be alone. With like 6 or 7 cameras, but mostly alone. We’d be outside the gym because Jillian would have just screamed at me to “GET OUT OF MY GYM!” And I’d be crying. Because why does she have to scream like that? Isn’t it humiliating enough that I have to be in spandex on the scale every week? Truly, Jillian, why?!

But Bob wouldn’t scream at me. He would wrap his sexy tattooed arm around me and say, “Girlfriend, tell me what’s going on.”

And I’d say, “Bob, it all started with the cupcakes.”

And he’d say, “Let’s talk about the cupcakes.”

And I’d lay my head on his shoulder, and that would send the camera people into a tizzy, and they would snap and gesticulate and mouth “cut that shit out!” and eventually I’d listen to them because my nose would start running, and if I’m leaving a trail of bodily fluids on Bob Harper, it’s not going to be snot.

I’d clear my throat and do my best not to glance at his creepy mustache. But it’s so thick and bushy I’d almost have to squint very hard so that I wouldn’t see it.

I’d look into his concerned blue eyes, and I’d say…

“Bob, I ate 2 cupcakes because…

I was hungry. And I had PMS. Also, They were from The Brunettes Bookshop Bakery. And, Bob, They. Taste. So. Good.”

And he’d nod and say, “OK. Those are the easy reasons. Why else did you eat the cupcakes?”

And I’d say, “I felt sorry for myself that week, Bob. I had hurt my back, and yoga didn’t help. And it hurt too much to run.”

And Bob would ask, “How did you hurt your back?”

And I’d say, “I tried to bring sexy back at my kids’ Homecoming by pairing heeled boots with my skinny jeans. Pony rides, hay rides, lemon sticks, and heeled boots…makes sense, doesn’t it?

And he’d say, “It makes perfect sense. Although I’d have gone with a flannel shirt and leather skinnies.”

And I’d say, “But I can’t rock the leather skinnies like you can, Bob.”

And he’d say, “Please tell me they were ankle booties.”

And I’d be ashamed and say, “Sadly, the boots that hurt my back were soooooo 2 seasons ago.”

And he’d make a face like he’d just caught a whiff of something nasty, and say, “Ewwww. Let’s change the subject, why else did you eat the cupcakes?”

And I’d say, “Because, when I was standing at the stove with one hand massaging my aching back and the other sauteing onions for dinner, I asked my husband to set the table for dinner. And do you know where he went, Bob? He climbed up on the roof of the house!”

And he’d look confused and ask, “Was he cleaning the gutters?”

And I’d raise my eyebrows and say, “One would think that, Bob. But, no. He was dressed as a witch.”

And he’d look puzzled and ask, “Why?”

And I’d say, “Because it was close to Halloween.”

And he’d ask, “And?”

And I’d say, “And he had the camera set up, and he yelled down from the roof to our oldest son, ‘don’t touch anything! Just press the button to take a picture!’”

And again Bob would ask, “Why?”

And I’d say, “Because that’s what he does, Bob!”

And Bob’s eyes would glaze over, and he’d murmur, “Oh, I love a man who likes to dress up.”

And I’d say, “Focus, Bob. Focus. I just wanted him to set the table for dinner.”

And he’d ask, “When you met him, was he the type to set the table for dinner?”

And I’d say, “No, Bob, he was the type to do naked stair dives down the fraternity house steps. You’re glazing over again, Bob. Focus.”

And he’d say, “Girlfriend, people don’t change. The guy who does naked stair dives…and that sounds super hot…doesn’t become the guy who sets the table for dinner just because you married him.”

And I’d say, “You’re right. He becomes the man who dresses up as a witch and stands on roof of your house at the exact moment the light is right because he woke up thinking this would be a cool picture.”

And he’d ask, “Well? Was it a good picture?”

And I’d say, “It was a great picture.”

Oh, yes he did.

Oh, yes he did.

He’d add, “And I bet it was a funny story too. And isn’t that what you do? Tell funny stories?”

And I’d say, “I tell stories, Bob. Yes. They happen to be funny because I married a man who dresses up like a witch and stands on the roof because he thinks it might make a good picture.”

And he’d say, “He’s giving you good material, girlfriend.”

And I’d say, “That’s one way to look at it, Bob.”

Bob would grow serious again, and ask, “Why else did you eat the cupcakes?”

And I’d take a deep breath and answer, “I ate the cupcakes because I am 3…OK 4…months late writing thank you cards to two different families who were brave and generous enough to open their homes to my  family this summer. And I’m beside myself that I haven’t gotten my act together before this, because I don’t want either of them to think that we didn’t appreciate every single second of their hospitality. And, in this crazy age when my home phone only rings when a solicitor calls or when one of my kids is sitting in the principal’s office, a handwritten thank you note takes so little effort but carries so much impact.

And speaking of thank you notes, I still owe thank you notes to friends who cooked for me when I was navigating Target on a motorized cart last May after I rolled my ankle on the jump rope my husband ordered for us but was actually designed for The Incredible Hulk.

And he’d say “What?”

And I’d say, “Don’t ask, Bob. Just watch the video. I ate the cupcakes because I still owe thank you notes to friends who cooked for me when the boys and I had the plague right before Christmas last year when my husband thought we were faking.

I ate the cupcakes because every time I get out of my car at school, I see someone and immediately realize I never replied to her email/text/phone call. I had every intention, but it just…poof…never happened.

When I stop to think about all the friends I haven’t replied to, I feel sad because I miss Ave. When the Verb was still a baby and I was nursing around the clock, I was forced to sit down. And I would use that time to catch up with her via text. And she made every day happier for me. And I miss that friendship.

I ate the cupcakes because the six of us have missed more parties than I can count because the evite still remains unanswered…sometimes unopened…in my email.

I ate the cupcakes because every time I think I’ll have time to write, somebody gets sick, has a field trip, has a day off, or asks that I attend a meeting. Or all of the above.

Because every time someone gets sick, has a field trip, has a day off, or asks that I attend a meeting, I can’t get dinner together.

And then we eat too much pizza.

And occasionally, and don’t fucking judge me, Bob, I take the kids to McDonald’s.”

And he’d shoot me a venomous look.

And I’d say, “Don’t look at me like that, Bob. I need your support right now.  And when I occasionally…and it’s rare, Bob, OK, it’s rare…take them to McDonald’s,  the Verb blows my cover by marching into kindergarten and dictating a story about being a scarecrow who gets chicken nuggets from McDonald’s.

And then that story makes it onto the wall of the building where all the parents walk their kids into school, so they can all read about how I poison my kids and their scarecrows with McDonald’s.”

Thanks for this, Verb. Truly.

Thanks for this, Verb. Truly.

And Bob would shrug and says, ““Well, that serves you right.”

And then I would shoot him a nasty look. But he’s so cute that I couldn’t be angry at him for long.

I’d take a deep breath and say, “I ate the cupcakes because every time I go to a meeting at school, they talk less about the test scores and more about raising our children to be resilient, and it all makes sense to me.

But I have to remember to let the kids solve their own problems more than I already do.

Because every time all four of the kids are on the trampoline together, my sweet Interrogator bursts into the house choking back tears.

And more often than not, I run outside to his aid.

Because he is my heart, Bob.

But I’m not teaching him resilience when I wag my finger and tell his brothers they will rue the day they made him cry.”

By now, Bob will have forgiven my McDonald’s indiscretion, so he’d put his arm around me and say, “You’re teaching them love and kindness. There’s nothing wrong with that. They’re still so young. The resilience will come.”

I’d take another breath and say, “I ate the cupcakes because whenever I login to Facebook and see that all of my writing friends are writing, it makes me feel panicked, and all I can think is, what about lean in??  Lean the fuck in, sisters, how about some fucking solidarity? Can’t we all be prolific at the same time?”

And Bob would say, “You’ve lost me. What do you mean?”

And I’d say, “I mean, I’m sitting in the fucking parking lot at Costco for the 3rd time in 2 weeks, Bob, and I want to write! But I can’t, Bob! I CAN’T WRITE! Because they keep eating, Bob. All the people in my house keep eating. And not the cupcakes. I’ve got the cupcakes covered. They eat all the other things. All the time they eat, eat, eat. So all the times I want to write, I’m spending food shopping.”

And he’d say, “Bethany, take care of your family first, and write when you feel inspired. And be happy for your friends when they carve time out to write. Writers need to write. It’s what they do.”

And I’d say, “That makes sense, Bob.”

And I’d say, “I ate the cupcakes because things are constantly falling through the cracks. Small things. But things. Every day I’m saying, ‘Shoot, I forgot,’. And I feel like I cannot get ahead of it. I cannot get organized. And I’m trying to be organized. But I’m double-fisting cupcakes, Bob. And I just know that all of the organized people in my life are going to be sending out their Christmas cards today and I’ll feel like they’re being organized AT me, Bob. Like I’m struggling to learn the steps to the Bunny Hop, and I’ll open up the mailbox, and BAM! They’re going all Michael Jackson’s Thriller on my ass!

And I know it’s not personal, Bob. It’s organized people being organized. Getting shit done and crossing it off the list. But I’m in a 2 cupcake kinda place right now, so it makes me feel like I’m failing. It makes me feel like I’m behind. Like I cannot get my shit together. And I hate that feeling, Bob.”

And he’d say, “That sounds like a lot of reasons to eat two cupcakes.”

And I’d say, “Hang on, Bob, I’m not finished yet. No one has ever accused me of being succinct.

I ate the cupcakes because here comes Christmas, and how the donkey hell are we going to pay for that?”

And he’d say, “Well, you’re the one who had 4 kids.”

And I’d say, “I know that, Bob. I married the guy who did naked stair dives down the fraternity house steps. We didn’t exactly think it through.

I ate the cupcakes because this is the year we sit down with the Kenyan and explain that the gifts that accompany Christmas are not exactly the handiwork of elves who work for a jolly man in a red suit…and with that simple explanation, we will extinguish some of the greatest mystery and magic of his childhood, and he will grow up just the tiniest bit in that moment. And it will happen right before our eyes. And he is perfect in all of his belief and innocence just the way he is, and I dread that I’ll be responsible for delivering the news that will lessen the wonder in his blue eyes.”

And then I’ll really be crying. The ugly cry. Because believe me when I say the Kenyan is one of the brightest lights in my life.

I’ll wipe my swollen, tear-streaked face on my Biggest Loser tee shirt, and say, “I ate the cupcakes because it’s another year of hanging stockings that don’t have airline tickets to Arizona in them. Because, as much as we’d love to see Little Sister over spring break, it costs 2 mortgage payments to fly the 6 of us back and forth across the country that particular week. And we aren’t in a position to do that.

I ate the cupcakes because 12 year olds suck. We just got out of diapers in my house! Everyone can swim! They all sleep through the night, and just when I think it’s going to be all the awesome stuff parenting is supposed to be, I have a 12 year old in the house. And most of the time it just sucks!

It’s brooding and a fuzzy upper lip and irritation at my existence that radiates from every pore of his hormonal body.

It’s stealing glances at him and my breath catching because I see glimpses of the man he’s growing into.

It’s listening to him and losing my shit because WHAT IS WITH THIS ATTITUDE?

It’s wanting to fast forward through this stage with him while simultaneously wanting to slam on the brakes because the next time he is nice to me, I’ll know he is being nice to cover up the fact that…like a typical fucking jackass teenager…he just snap chatted a picture of his naked torso to a girl I haven’t met.”

And Bob will ask, “What’s snap chat?”

And I’ll say, “Here, let’s have a tutorial. You take a naked picture of yourself, then you snap chat it to me, and it disappears in 10 seconds. And I would NEVER take a screen shot to look at every single day for the rest of my life, so don’t even sweat that. Never. I promise. Never.”

And he’ll say, “I practice yoga naked, so I’ll do it then.”

And I’ll say, “That’s perfect, Bob. Just perfect.”

And he’ll say, “Focus, Bethany.”

And I’ll say, “I ate the cupcakes because every time I walk into the dentist with my youngest son, they ask, ‘how did your son lose his tooth at such a young age?’ And I shrug, smile, and answer, ‘I don’t know. He’s the youngest of 4 boys.’ And that’s the truth, but they always continue to look at me like that’s not an answer. And I’m like, ‘We have a trampoline. And 4 boys. They are all boys. And they bounce. And they wrestle. Boys!’

And I feel judged. And I know they’re in the business of teeth, and my son is missing a tooth. But I’m his Mom. And I am in the business of putting my body, my dreams, my heart, my spirit, my entire existence into providing love, consistency, and a safe place for him and his brothers. And I don’t fucking know what happened to his tooth! I have 4 boys! And a trampoline! And 4 fucking boys! It’s yet another thing that slipped through the cracks, Bob. And, really, I just want the crowd at the dentist to say, ‘Damn, he looks cute without that front tooth.’ Is that too much to ask, Bob?”

And Bob would say, “I saw his picture, and I think he looks adorable without that front tooth.”

And I’d say, “Thank you, Bob. I knew I could count on you. I ate the cupcakes because my family just got kicked in the gut with a life-changing diagnosis, and not the kind that changes anyone’s life for the better. The kind where everyone cries. And expectations are shifted. And dreams are shattered.

I ate the cupcakes because I wrote some stuff. And so far nobody wants it. And I feel vulnerable. And what if maybe nobody ever wants it? That makes me feel gross and icky and uncomfortable. And like Michael Schaefer still doesn’t know I exist even though I loved him from afar for every. single. day. of grade school.”

And Bob would look at me, and say, “Just because Michael Schaefer didn’t acknowledge you doesn’t mean you’re not worth acknowledging. And just because nobody wants what you wrote yet doesn’t mean no one will ever want it. There’s a teaching opportunity here.”

And I’d say, “I know, Bob. Resilience. Re-mutha-fucking-silience. But it doesn’t sting any less.”

And I’d put my head on his shoulder again because he is basically not even gay at this point, and it feels like we are practically a couple.

And he’d whisper into my hair, “So, what are you going to do?”

And that’s when I’d seal the deal with my yoga talk. Because I know Bob loves yoga as much as he loves tattoos. And I love yoga almost as much as I love Bob.

I’d say, “You know, Bob, I was practicing yoga the other day, and my instructor said something that stuck with me. She said, ‘criticism is just noise.’”

And Bob would lift his leg and lay it over mine, and he’d say, “I love that.”

And I’d say, “I love it too. I’m criticizing myself, Bob. It’s too much noise. Too frequently.

I feel overwhelmed, Bob. And I’m allowing it to get in the way of all that’s good in my life.

I have a house that’s full. Full of life. And all the good and the bad that comes with it.

I have too much good in my life and I am too many things to too many people to allow all this noise.

So no more cupcakes for me, Bob.

I want to sing Kumbaya.”

And Bob would say, “Bethany, I’ve never said this to a woman, but I’d put my crotch-less leather chaps on for you any day of the week. And twice on Sundays, cowgirl.”

And I’d say, “Oh, Bob, I’d love to yoga you so hard that creepy mustache of yours falls right the fuck off.

But I’m in love with the witch standing on my roof.

Don’t look so sad.

If you’re ever in Philadelphia, let’s take a yoga class together.

And we can do all the partner handstands your heart desires.”

So I feel much better after my talk with Bob.

Even if it was just in my head.

All that. Because of two cupcakes.


54 thoughts on “All Because of Two Cupcakes

  1. Holy crap. Did you write this just for me? Whoa. Just substitute a whole bag of candy corn for the cupcakes and there you go. My husband didn’t climb on the roof, but he has worked late every single night for the past 2 weeks, so no table setting for him. My thank-you note deadlines are so late they’ve lapped themselves. My 8yo didn’t lose a tooth, but is still bed wetting. My mom is fighting lung cancer, and I’m 500 miles away. I sooooooo want to write, but I write lesson plans and grade papers instead. And why why why do they want dinner every single night????!!!!! Ok, thanks. I feel better now. Not really, but thanks for a good read.

    • Nancy B,

      It is candy corn for me too! Just suddenly this year. Such a love/hate relationship. Cannot drive by Walgreens without stopping to buy some, but also can’t wait until they run out and I won’t be able to get buy them. It is horrible and I am glad I am not alone. 🙂

  2. Maybe sharing those other 2 cupcakes with me wouldn’t help my back after my Thriller injury. You said a mouthful (or two) of just what I have been feeling lately! Thanks for typing it up for me!

  3. OMG Bethany , this post was a rollercoaster! I laughed and cried and reflected… I only have 2 boys and I often find myself eating the cupcake or drinking the wine glass, or sneaking out for runs in order to keep sane. Motherhood is not easy and I think we are the only ones putting pressure on ourselves to raise perfect kids, have perfect houses and be perfect wives, friends, sisters, daughters, etc… I think we often fail to see that most of the time, people think we are doing much better than we give ourselves credit for.

    When I see the pics of your beautiful children, even without ever meeting them, I can see the happiness in their eyes… that is all you momma!!! be proud… and once in a while… it is OK to eat the cupcake (or the 2 cupcakes)…having to deal with uneven numbers of treats for an even number of boys is a bitch… I would have done the same!

  4. So many things to say to you, Dear Bethany. First, keep up the Brave. You are cut from that tough, northeast cloth that gets us through all of the shit. Use what you’ve been given, girlfriend, and just be stronger. Than everything else, because you know you can. Second, use your jedi-yoga mind to find the Balance. Some days you clean, some days you run, some days you write. Right now, my thighs are touching. But I’ve been writing a bunch. Next week I’m starting a new workout. Likely, nobody will have clean laundry then, but… whatever. Mix it up, and make it work for YOU. You won’t find the Balance if you are set in stone. Finally, and I say this VERY hesitantly, have more of the Sex. It is a connection to something primal within you and will help with all of the other things in your life. I’m serious. It works. And tell the Witch that I said, “You’re welcome.”

    • You are my voice of reason. And I just went to a sex toy party this week, so your last piece of advice will have some bells and whistles attached. Literally. Thank you for the time you took to read and for your feedback. Mostly for being the writer who inspired me to write myself. True story. XO

  5. As the mother of 4 little boys, and someone who hides in the closet to eat Acme chocolate chip cookies more times in a day than I care to admit, you are not alone! Thanks for helping me figure out why I eat so many! You are far from alone and organization is overrated!
    Off to go drop off the lunch I “forgot” to put in someone’s backpack!

    • Katie, curse those Acme chocolate chip cookies. I hate when they’re on sale and I have to buy them!!! They are so good with milk. I love that a lunch didn’t make it into someone’s backpack. Wait until it’s a tooth. Goddamn kids. Thanks for reading!

  6. So maybe it’s been a while since you’ve written anything (because Costco) but this, my friend, makes up for lost time. I hope it was as cathartic for you to write as it was hilarious and heartwarming to read. And the whole witch on the roof story? Beats leather chaps (crotch less or not) ANY day!

  7. I love this. I love your writing. And I love cupcakes.

    With my luck, I’d get Jillian, who would yell at me and make me cry and make me wanna eat 4 more cupcakes.

    • I don’t want to be in spandex anywhere near Jillian. Even more than the screaming (which doesn’t work for me, I need positive reinforcement), I’d be all “holy shit, look at her body”. Because holy shit, look at her body. Seriously!

      Thanks for reading, Teri, you are the best! XO

  8. This is hilarious. Thank God for cupcakes. What would life be without them. I don’t even want to imagine a world like that…Next time go for a 6 pack.

  9. Cupcakes are a favorite of mine, but I can’t eat refined sugar for health reasons. A friend who didn’t know brought me four tiny cakes. They sat in my fridge while I decided what to do with them.
    Each time I opened the door, they called out, “Try us. We’re yummy.”
    Each time I shut the door saying, “No. You’re poison and I don’t crave sugar.”
    Then one night I waited too long before starting dinner and since I cook from scratch the only ready made item in the fridge were those damn cakes. They winked. “Just a taste,” they said. “Just a bite to hold you over.”

    I ate two. They were. So. Very. Good. And I felt–So. Very. Guilty.


    Another great post, Bethany. 🙂

    • I hate that guilty feeling! I always blame that guilt on being raised Catholic. The church can pull a guilt number like nobody else.

      Thank you for reading!

  10. I smiled when I saw you had written. When I saw the post I thought, “I will laugh hard today”.
    Then I read it. And I laughed and I cried. Once again you have out into words the things we all think but never say or cannot put into words.

    Usually, I just put my head down and cry because I can’t stop things from falling through the cracks. I have one child. Amazing, energy filled, smart, curious, beautiful child. And you would think with one I should be able to catch it all. Answer every email, RSVP in time, buy all the Christmas gifts before Thanksgiving, be able to take time off for every class party, afford everything. But I can’t. And dammit I want his childhood to be perfect.
    Nothing is. Hopefully I cover most.

    You remind me I am not alone.

    Your writing is magic. David Blaine magic. (He is my Bob!)

    P.S. Jillian Michaels has publicly apologized for her yelling at mothers. Since adopting 2children she knows that we don’t always have the time we want (NEED!) to workout/run/get to the gym!

    • You are not alone. I am fucking up my kids’ childhoods right and left. And you put more pressure on yourself because you feel you have one kid and one shot. Meanwhile, I’m like, “holy shit, I’m fucking up an entire golf foursome!” Seriously more damage. Take solace in that!

      My husband is a sucker for David Blaine the way I am for Bob Harper, so thank you.

      Thank you for the awesome feedback and for reading. When are we going to run? XOXOXOXO

    • Please tell me he is as delicious in person as he is on TV. I couldn’t love him any harder. And, thank you, my friend. XO

  11. Holy crap, Bethany! So much of what you wrote here rang true to me except I’m eating the left over Halloween fun size cheese balls that didn’t get passed out with the candy. Damn that crap in my house! But really I feel like the walls are closing in on me most days with trying to ‘do it all’ and I can’t even scratch the surface. I have a space planning project for a dear woman that I’ve been shelving for a year and I feel Horrible! Why can’t we just let it all go and live in the moment more?? Thanks for making me feel like I’m not the only one feeling like this. I really needed your humor today!

    • Cheese balls are a better choice than cupcakes. Although, do you get Bachman’s Jax down there? Maybe you don’t. And maybe you shouldn’t because they are the absolute most fantastic snack food ever created. My grocery store carries them specifically because I asked for them. It was a mistake.

      Living in the moment is what I need. There isn’t enough yoga in a lifetime that can help me remember that!!! Thank you for reading! Miss you! XO

  12. I have been eating the cupcakes for a month now, have an injured knee so no running…I totally get it and am going to give up the cupcakes!!! Thank you so much for your inspiration, I get so happy when I see your email. You will write those thank you notes when it is time, meanwhile you bring joy and happiness to thousands of moms because you let us know that we are not alone. Thank you!

    • Oh, Tara, you are too kind. I don’t know if I’m inspiring anyone, but if I’m validating what you are feeling, then I feel like I’m connecting. This shit is HARD! Thank you for reading!

  13. First off, I LOVE me some Bob Harper, even when he’s kicking my ass with his DVD’s. He is so damned cute. Secondly, I get it. I get all of it! I work full-time hours, and I took the jobs that I have because they kind of fell into my lap, and I knew that I could be with my kids most of the day still…which means that I work full-time, all the while…being with my kids all day. 🙂 Which is great, but it kinda doubles the work load and stress, right? And I write. I love love love to write, and many days I think to myself…when can I fit an hour in? When? But I have to settle for an hour a week sometimes, because that’s all I can fit. DAMMIT, I WANT A CUPCAKE NOW, TOO!!!! 🙂

    • Bob is perfection. And, absolutely, the workload is doubled for you. And the stress load is more than doubled! An hour doesn’t seem like too much to ask when you look at it in terms of a week…but when you try to find an hour in between all the other shit we are doing for all of the people in our lives, it feels like so much more. Keep writing! Eat the cupcake every now and then! It’s so goddamn delicious!!!

  14. I love you!!
    I love reading what you write- every single time!
    I love that realization of- I’m not the only one feeling like that!
    Thank you so much.
    Good luck with all the craziness- you’re amazing!

    • Pnina, I’m so glad you can relate!!! It’s always comforting to know we’re not alone in our feelings. Thank you for reading!

  15. I’m wondering what the hell was in those cupcakes?

    Just kidding – Loved it! I think I’ll keep cupcakes out of the house because I have ALLL the same worries and I don’t’ think I’d be bale to stop at two. Great, funny and insightful!

    • Those cupcakes are the bomb diggity. If you are local, you must try one. If you are not local, you must make a trip to Philly specifically to try one. The one that inspired me to talk to the cat was the butter beer cupcake. Insane. Thank you for reading, Allie!

  16. First of all, the truest of stories… every single time I see that you’ve blogged again I get excited and I wait until I have five whole seconds to myself to sit down and read. Just as I do with my favorite books. This post is exactly why, I think I might love you more than you love Bob.
    As I read this I nodded in agreement with so many of your feelings but also couldn’t believe YOU felt this way because I feel this way and I was pretty sure I was the only one feeling inadequate. So thank you for sharing this and for being honest and for being an amazing writer. xo

    • We all feel this way, don’t we? One of my close girlfriends who is not married and doesn’t have kids said she is in the same boat. I think it’s life at our age. I know I should feel lucky because our lives are full…but some days I can’t see past the things on my to do list that haven’t been checked off…for like 6 months.

      And I feel the same way about you, Jessica. You stir my emotions no matter what you write. I feel like I know and love your kids because I see them through your eyes in your writing. Thank you for reading! XOXOXO

  17. Damn! I laughed, I cried, I ate pumpkin bread. WTF you ask? Yes, pumpkin bread is the thing at the moment. Seriously enjoyed this and will never miss one of your posts again. It’s like we’re in sync. (Like connected not the boy band)

    • If we are N Sync, can I be Justin Timberlake? Because he may be the person I love almost as much as Bob Harper. Also, if you smear that pumpkin bread with cream cheese icing…especially homemade cream cheese icing, I would slam the entire loaf down my throat. Thank you for reading, Cilla!

  18. That was such a good lumping post, Bethenny! “Lumping” is my son’s new pseudo-curse word that I should probably not allow but now I’m using it too so I probably will.
    As the mama of a precocious (mystifying) 12-year-old son whom I shouted at in the shower the other night to, “EXPLORE YOUR BODY ON YOUR OWN TIME, OR FINISH UP, YOUR SISTER STILL NEEDS TO GET IN THERE BEFORE BEDTIME,” I feel you.
    Keep writing. It’s cathartic. And you’re sooo good at it. *deep breathe* Tomorrow is another day. Scarlett O’Hara is my life coach. *hugs*

    • Dani, I am not a huge fan of 12 thus far. But I don’t feel so alarmed when I hear other parents are enduring the same nonsense. I like “lumping”. My 12 year old just whispers the real curse to me, “What the fuck is he talking about now?” I just say “don’t let your brothers overhear you, and save it for the playground at school.” That’s probably a serious violation of some unwritten parenting rule somewhere, but I’m trying to be practical and teach him some common sense. So far, I’m failing miserably.

      Thank you for reading, and I’m so glad you liked it!!!

  19. Damn my excitable posting without proofreading. Bethany, not Bethenny! As a person who was called, “Dana” for all of 5th grade no matter how many times I CORRECTED YOU, MRS. DAHLSTROM, I usually make it a point to get names right. My apologies!

  20. Bethany, I love to read anything that you write. I’m so glad you got out of the damn Costco parking lot and sat down to write this. It’s perfect. I think you summed up what everyone is feeling, especially this time of year. I also think it’s nuts that your husband dressed like a witch and stood on the roof. That is some serious crazy shit right there. I’m ready to make a bumper sticker that says, “Lean in, bitches.”

    • “Lean in, bitches” is exactly what I am feeling. “Lean the fuck in, bitches” would sum it up just as nicely. My kids ate cereal for dinner the night I wrote this. Reese’s Puffs, not Special K. Bob Harper would be mortified.

      Jen, you are the bomb diggity, and thank you for reading. XO

  21. Hang in there, B! While it makes me sad that you’re battling this stuff (how fortunate that it’s with Bob’s help!) it makes me feel better to know I’m not the only gal who looks at a life filled with discarded socks and Matchbox cars and thinks, ‘dammit. I’m a capable woman… Why can’t I get it together?! Oh. And why is there frosting on my face?! DAMMIT!!’

    Thanks for every bit of your writing.

    • Elena, I am surrounded by mismatched socks and Pokemon cards and could probably be making a hell of a living in an alternate universe. And I think more of us are going through that overwhelmed feeling than we realize. It makes me feel better to know I’m in good company! Thank you for reading and for your kind words!

  22. Bethany, this is the most beautiful and real cupcake story I have ever read. You have this uncanny knack for inspiring to greater heights and offering the comforting hug of a friend and the same time. Thank you. xo.

  23. Bethany,
    Just found your blog after reading I Just Want to Pee Alone. I can’t eat the cupcakes because of gluten and dairy allergies, but I WANT to eat the cupcakes. We ALL want to eat the cupcakes.

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