RAD RERUN!!! Kitchen Confidential

0:01 To the restless, the insomniacs, the stressed out, the overwork the doom scrollers, the worried, and the board. This is for you. Good writing is meant to make you think. This is the opposite. Short, funny, and unfortunately true stories that have mostly to do with nothing to help you turn off your brain and turn on your ram. All names have been changed to protect the guilty. These are anxiety addicts bed time stories. The anxiety that seeped into Cora's brain didn't stop in that body part. There was the knot in her stomach, which reminded her of the wet tingled mess of clothes knotted up in the corner of the fitted sheet in the dryer, And it was a toss up as to which mess was harder to figure out in another life.

1:01 Before she was a mom of three, Cora had been a project manager. She was used to juggling a dozen people's different needs, schedules and too do lists. But this skill set wasn't easily translating to her home because these employees, sorry children, didn't receive a salary and thusly had no motivation to listen. Cora tried to make herself laugh, imagining her brew dressed in pantsuits and ties, waddling into cubicles, smearing peanut butter and slime on every available surface. But she was running on fumes, and there was no well of energy for any kind of smile, let alone a legitimate chuckle. There was, of course, all the usual housekeeping, the never ending pile of laundry with stains that occasionally made her shudder when she contemplated their origins. It was funny.

1:55 When she'd been pregnant with her first baby, a son who they ended up appropriately naming Wiley, she had a friend tell her that there was nothing your kids could ever do to gross you out. The diapers, the vomit, the messes. Being a mother would make you immune to reacting to any of these quagmires of parenthood. When Wiley had his first stomach bug after eating a dinner of blueberries, chicken, and pickles, Cora quickly learned that this assumed universal truth did not apply to her. She vomited right alongside her ten month old, and she hasn't eaten a pickle in seven years. Wiley wasn't the problem. He was a good kid.

2:36 Now seven years old and a few months into second grade, He got into the usual shenanigans. And yes, she did catch him in the neighbor daring and succeeding in getting each other to eat worms after the rain storm yesterday, But she didn't have to helicopter him for the most part. And even though the idea made Cora want a puke and hide in a closet, there probably wasn't anything wrong, at least from a health perspective, with eating worms. Her second kid, Penelope, wasn't exactly a tornado of childhood energy either. Penelope loved arts and crafts and fixing things. Cora had learned from a very young age that putting her middle child in a kitchen chair with some glue, popsicle sticks and buttons could entertain the munchkin for easy ninety minutes.

3:25 If she and her husband Bobby were being honest. The ease of raising Penelope had made them want to try for a third and that's how eighteen months earlier they'd found themselves in a familiar wing of the hospital, welcoming Bobby Junior. Bobby had been a different kind of kid than his brother and sister from day one. First of all, when he came out all wriggly and kicking and screaming. The doctor counted four blood blisters on each heel. Cora had certainly been kept awake at night for months at the end of this pregnancy with his kicking, but hadn't realized that even in utero, Bobby Junior knew how to get attention. He'd started crawling at six months old, which made him highly ambulatory from almost the get go, and Cora had already been prone to anxiety and what was in retrospect probably a little bit of postpartum depression. So for the past year she had been on extremely high alert.

4:25 She was such a light sleeper that she'd wake up when the wind changed direction, even when all of their bedroom windows were closed. She'd rushed to Wiley's room for a bad dream, or Cora's for a whimper and a drink of water, and then Bobby Junior's, as he seemed to think that three am was the perfect time for the whole family to wake up and engage with a stimulating conversation in baby babbel. Yeah, she was exhausted. If you listen to us, because you too have difficulty sleeping. You know the toll that endless hours awake and the night can take. You can feel so great, but also confused and disoriented. Maybe you find yourself talking to people and saying things like I don't know, I've already told you this, but and then they interrupt you, hopefully gently, and say, yes, you told me about it at midnight and at two am and at five point thirty, and then you called me about it this morning. Or you do something like put your dog in the car instead of your kid. Maybe you lose the remote control and find it in the cheese drawer next to the cold cuts.

5:28 You may leave the house wearing two different shoes, or have forgotten the shoes altogether, and find yourself at your local Kroger in your nineties bunny slippers. These are all hypothetical situations, but this was the headspace where Cora found herself living, and there was this mental health cherry on top. She was unconsciously becoming a little paranoid, which makes sense. If you feel like you can't trust your own brain, how do you trust anybody else's shuffling out of the grocery store with all the things that she didn't need forgetting both whole milk and children's tile and all her bunny slipper's soft bottom repeatedly pierced by the parking lot's gravel.

6:08 Cora walked up and down the spaces, searching for her silver Mini van. It wasn't where she left it. She knew it. It stolen, she told herself, and her stomach sank to just above one of the bunny's pink ears. Now what call the police, Tell the manager? The milk was going to go bad in the sun. While she waited, Cora had yet to realize that she'd forgotten all the dairy products. She pulled out her keyfop frantically pressing the lock button, straining her good ear for the reassuring sound of a toyota's beep. Just as she thought that she heard a muffled noise, she was interrupted. Mama Cora whipped her head around and saw a little eighteen month old Bobby Junior had managed to wiggle himself out of the cart's child's seat and was climbing down the side to open the can of pringles that she'd bought while thinking about soccer sign ups. Oh, Cora, Bobby, she screamed, catching his pudgy body before it blopped onto the ground. And that's when the shopping cart began to roll, Cora chased it, Bobby wailing on her hip the store of Starbucks employees enjoying the frantic mother show on their smoke break. The cart picked up speed heavy with the weight of Seltzer water on a two for one special. It rolled and weaved, and then slammed directly into a bumper, leaving a dent the sides of a toddler's fist. Luckily, it was a twenty sixteen Ciena minivan, and okay, maybe this wasn't lucky, but it was hers. Once the grocery bags were loaded

7:42 into the trunk, Baby Bobby was strapped into his car seat, and Pringle's cans were opened. Because who could even deal with thinking about calories at a time like this. Cora sat in the driver's seat, blasted the ac and refused to cry. You got this, she told herself, It's just the babyface. Soon you can go back to work. Maybe Bobby's parents will finally move to town and be able to help. She was very conflicted about the idea of sharing a zip code with her in laws, but this was a desperate moment. When they got home, cor chugged two cups of coffee and forced herself to tackle her to do list. She picked up the house, put away the kids clothed, vacuumed the previous night's popcorn fight, folded her four hundredth load of laundry, put the groceries away, and prepped dinner. She put Bobby in a stroller, this time triple checking that he was buckled in, and took the dog around the block. She got back in the car, picked up Penelope, then Wiley, then her husband's allergy prescription at the pharmacy. She was all the way home before she remembered that she had forgotten the milk. It was Tuesday, so Cora made tacos. It was supposed to be an easy dinner, meant to take the mental load off and facilitate an easy cleanup. But dinner for a family of five is never easy, unless you're a bunch of grizzly bears all feasting on the same dead elk. But even then someone had to go out and kill it, so you know, never easy. Bobby the dad, put down Bobby

9:13 the baby, and Cora got the older two into a bath in their pajamas. She begged, pleaded, and cajoled for them to brush their teeth, their hair, and agree on a bedtime story. Then get cups of water, band aids for Owie's ointments for bug bites, and pillowcases without quote unquote scary ducks on them. By the time she turned out the lights, Cora had one of those nights where you fall asleep within seconds of your head hitting an alien printed pillow in a three year old's twin bed. Cora didn't even realize she'd fallen asleep until around midnight, when she woke with a start. Maybe it was her surprise at not remembering falling asleep in the first place.

9:56 Maybe it was the sheer, total and all encompassing a exhaustion. Maybe it was a weird sound, or a pot fell from the drying rack next to the kitchen sink. The point is, who knows what it is, but a familiar pit of anxiety formed immediately in her stomach. She pushed her feet into her decomposing bunny slippers and walked downstairs, and what she saw she will never forget. The kitchen had been ransacked. Corrus stood on the bottom stair, clutching the banister, her lips stretched apart like a big mouth bass. She tried to call Bobby's name, but the words were stuck somewhere in her throat. She opened and closed her eyes, maybe ten or eleven times, just trying to take it all in. Every drawer was open, its contents spilling out into the home depot flooring. Boxes of food and utensils had been dumped and spread across the counter and area.

10:53 Rug A brown goo covered the kitchen island wall. Was that feces and the ants had already found a path to the chaos. Lights were on the couch, cushions were utterly disheveled. Cora turned and sped up the stairs, shaking her husband from his sleep, trying her best to form at least one cohesive thought. Someone broke in. She yell, whispered into his startled face. I'll call the police, he said, picking up his phone off the nightstand. You go check on the kids. Cora raced to the children's bedrooms and thanked whatever entity above, ensured that they were all fine and sleeping soundly. Cora grabbed her pink robe from the bathroom floor and stood at her bedroom window, her heart pounding like an exploding bomb in her chest, waiting to see the lights of a police car. Bobby held her close as they stayed on the phone with the operator.

11:47 How do we know the perpetrator has left the premises, Bobby asked the dispatcher. If Cora had anywherewithal, she would have found her husband's choice of language funny, But everything was too scared. Smile. The officers will enter through the front door and sweep the first floor while you wait. Copy that, said Bobby, who worked in sales and watched too much dateline, mister Green, the officers responding or saying that the front door is locked. Cora heard the words through the receiver and stared at her husband with a face of terror and shock. He locked the door behind him. She whispered to Bobby, Sir, is there another door? The dispatcher prompted the backsliding door by the porch. Bobby whispered into the phone. He waited for the police officers to canvass the back of his house, find the dangerous criminal and be interviewed by Channel eleven eyewitness news. Sir, that door is locked as well. Do you feel comfortable coming down and letting them in? This time, it was Bobby who looked like he'd seen a ghost. Yes, of course, be right there. Bobby turned to Corra, squeezing her hand as if he were going into back. She nodded, because really that was kind of all she could do. Standing under the bright kitchen light, bleary eyed, wearing her least attractive garment and of course, bunny slippers, Corra tried her best to answer question after question from the young deputy with the notepad. He wasn't getting much. She couldn't put

13:21 it all together. She was so tired and simultaneously wired that she felt nauseous, especially with the sight of the brownish substance smeared across her walls. And ma'am, ma'am, ma'am, the young deputy attempted to rope her back into reality. What is missing? Coora took Bobby's hand. Together they walked around the living room, the small dining room, the kitchen, and the breakfast nook. For all of the wreckage, the insane mess, everything of value seemed to be in its correct place. Cora's purse sat untouched on the bench by the door. Bobby's wallet and keys were right on the table where he always left them. The kid's iPads were plugged in by the hand medown desk, and Cora even had a necklace sitting on the kitchen counter that she'd been meaning to take to the jewelry repair shop for three months. I just I don't, I can't, but yet again, Cora was interrupted. Bobby Junior, with his chunky cheeks and Mickey Mouse pajamas, was standing at the top of the stairs.

14:28 Cora raced up the steps to hold her baby boy. His face was red, right red. Buddy wasn't crying. Something else was going on. Mama Cora may have been utterly exhausted, but that didn't stop her maternal instinct from kicking into overdrive. She took a long look at her youngest son. What was his face? Saying wanted E not utter? E not utter? What is her spun? Bobby Junior waved his hand gesturing to the havoc on the floor below. I'm sorry. The guilt in his little body was palpable. Cora doesn't remember who realized at first. Maybe it was Bobby, who, although sleep deprived, was nowhere near Cora's level. Maybe it was the young deputy who was excited to prove himself as the newbieyond the forest and had consumed twenty four fluid ounces of a monster energy drink on the drive over.

15:32 Maybe Bobby Junior's face just said it all. But that midnight on a Tuesday, the whole scene came into focus. Cora rubbed her bleary eyes. She saw the open Costco sized peanut butter jar next to the smeared brown mess. She saw the shredded goldfish bag, the pringles, the couch cushions. She no longer saw the work of a dangerous criminal. She saw her eighteen month old now standing on the landing outside of his room. It dawned on her that this little rascal was fully capable of climbing out of his fricking crib. Cora was almost too tired to be embarrassed.

16:20 She picked up Bobby Junior and held him on her hip. I found the culprit, she quietly called down to her husband and the town's law enforcement. It turns out that, uh, Bobby Junior can, Yeah, he can get out of his crib, and also he really likes peanut butter. She turned to her husband, another thought popping into her mom's brain. We are so lucky he's not allergic Bobby. The dad nodded, still digesting what was going on in his house in the middle of the night. Your baby made a mess and you called the police. The younger deputy was not a muse us. He had been very excited about making his first arrest on that particular evening. I am so, so so sorry, Cora began, her eyes welling with tears of who knows what emotion? Can you please please not tell anyone about this. Cora was already self conscious enough at school drop off, with her wild hair, sometimes leaky boobs, and of course the bunny slippers. I have to file a report, said the deputy with a stern and utterly humorless voice. He clearly was less excited about doing paperwork than putting a person in handcuffs. As Cora and Bobby said good night to the police and thanked them for their service, they trudged back up to their bedroom, sticking little Bobby squarely between them and locking the door. Cora

17:50 dreamed about cleaning her kitchen. They didn't tell the other children about the night's events. They even lied to the neighbors who'd noticed the cop cars, telling them that their smoke detectors had accidentally gone off. They didn't even tell the grandparents the truth about why Bobby Junior's room had a new lock on the outside of the door. You know how embarrassment is supposed to fade over time, How we are meant to get over events, mistakes, and humiliation, as if the ticking of a clock will somehow dilute those feelings. Well not for Cora. It's been years. Bobby Junior is now in elementary school. She submitted the story while hiding behind a pool noodle display at the supermarket, hiding from the deputy, her face burning red at the midnight memory. At least the situation made her remember that she was out of peanut butter.

18:54 Thanks for listening. If you still can't sleep, why not do some shopping on the small business links at anxiety Addicts bedtime stories dot com and support some really cool people, and don't forget to subscribe and to send us your stories sweet dreams.