by C S Slockbower

Created on: February 28, 2008   Last Updated: April 24, 2008

Shortly after the birth of my second child, I decided to take a hiatus from my successful career to dedicate time to raising my two daughters, then five years old and eighteen months. Though I could hear the faint chant of hundreds of feminists chastising me for surrendering my "real job" to such a mundane existence, the guilt-inspired call of motherhood is difficult to ignore. Resolute in my decision, I traded my computer for a pasta machine, my briefcase for a diaper bag, and marketing presentations for ad nausea viewings of "The Rescuers".

Having climbed the corporate ladder and negotiated the churning waters of office politics, I knew that I would find this new era of my life comparatively dull and unchallenging, but I told myself I'd put to good use all the extra time I was sure to have on my hands.

Roughly three hours into my first day of my new career, I abandoned my smug view of the ease of the stay-at-home-Mom lifestyle. By the second week I began compiling a list titled, Things You Never Have To Say In A Management Meeting. The list included such classics as, "Your nostril is not an extra pocket from God", "Take that out of your mouth", and "For the last time, put your underwear back on!" I'll concede that maybe that last one has been used in a business setting, but never outside the halls of Congress.

My biggest mistake in raising toddlers was continuing to indulge my life-long habit of sleeping at night. Children need much less down-time than their grown-up counterparts, and while parents awake sluggish and barely coherent, children leap from their beds armed with nefarious thoughts and boundless determination. While I quickly realized that I must awake an hour before them, the previous days' antics invariably left me too exhausted to carry through with my strategic defense plan.
I frequently awoke to unwelcome surprises. One morning as I fumbled my way downstairs to the life-giving coffee pot, I noticed a peculiar path of stickiness winding down the stairs, dancing up the walls and sporadically snaking along the carpeting.

I knew the chief suspect in the sticky crime would be wearing blonde pigtails and a pull-up. Following the trail, I spotted her in a corner, sporting a devilish grin and futilely attempting to hide a squeeze bottle of Log Cabin syrup behind her tiny frame. Huddled in a nearby corner was the family cat. Until this moment, I didn't realize cats could scowl. I surmise that one of the unpronounceable ingredients in the syrup, when liberally

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