“I’m sorry,” he cries.
“It’s not your fault, Parker. I’ll clean you up, okay?”
I bend down to inspect his pants. Completely unsalvageable. If only I had my purse with the extra set of clothes. Or a phone to call for help.
Breathe, I tell myself, and immediately regret the moment I do. What the hell did this kid eat?
“I need to go more.”
I quickly clean his legs and backside, and then place him on the toilet, earning a gold star for not throwing up. While Parker does his business, I contemplate what to do. He can’t walk out of here naked from the waist down. I drop my gaze, taking inventory of the clothing I could possibly spare.
It’s a short list of one.
I slip out of the tank top I’m wearing underneath a sleeveless, cross-over top that’s now nicely showcasing my cleavage. At least I wore my best push-up bra.
I hang the shirt on the hook behind me and shove my hands into my back pocket, feeling my phone. Funny, I don’t remember grabbing it. Must be wired into my subconscious. Ironic when you think about it. I purposely disconnected to bond with my family, yet being connected could have prevented the disastrous events of today. I take it out and glare at it, wishing this inanimate object could feel my wrath. Useless piece of metal.
“All done, mommy.”
As I lean forward to flush the toilet, someone enters the bathroom and slams into the door at my back, sending me and my phone flying forward. My arms extend, hands landing on the wall behind my son without knocking him from the porcelain throne. My phone isn’t so lucky, ping-ponging from side to side of the toilet seat before plummeting to its death in a bowlful of feces.
“Noooooo!” I reach down, stopping myself right before my hand plunges into the number-two abyss. “Gaaaaaaah!”
Do I fish it out? Do I not? It’s just poop, right? I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Just poop? What sane person has ever had that thought? Should I be concerned that’s my natural reaction? Because willingly sticking one’s hand in a bowl filled with shit is so. Not. Natural.
After twenty-seconds of debating, I channel my inner-MacGyver and decide on flushing the toilet to rinse it clean. As far as cellphones go, it’s big. There’s no way it’s going down the drain. I think. Fingers crossed, I push the lever and pluck it from the swirling water.
Guess what? It’s dead. And no amount of rice in a bag will be able to bring it back.
“Mommy?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Can we go now?” he asks.
“You got it little man.” I help Parker into my tank top, practically shower in the sink, and toss my phone in the garbage on the way out.
“Hey, mommy?” Parker yanks on my hand. “I’m excited for school.”
Twist the knife a little further.
“Mmm-hmm.” I plaster a smile across my face as we exit the building.
Outside, Hank leans against the passenger side door. Arms crossed. Smug grin. Holding a black cord and beaming with pride. “Found the charger.”
There are times in life when you realize the thread that’s holding everything together is ridiculously fragile. Weighted down by emotional snags, it’s only a matter of time before the thread frays. Standing here, I wonder if this is the moment it finally snaps.
“Want me to—” Conversation halts. I follow his gaze down to my cleavage. “Were you wearing that the entire time?”
Fun fact: men in the presence of boobs cannot process any other information. Such as their son wearing their mother’s shirt.
“I’m driving,” I announce, walking past him and slide behind the wheel. “Everybody buckled?”
Three yeses and I burn rubber back to the highway.
“Everything okay?” Hank rubs my shoulder.
“Nope.”
“What happened?”
“Don’t want to talk about it.” Could I be any shorter?
“Oooookay. Where’s your phone then? I’ll plug it in.”
I laugh maniacally. “The bottom of a waste basket back at the gas station.”
He’s quiet for about a mile before asking, “Why is your phone in a trashcan?”
“Because it wasn’t working after it fell in the toilet.”
Smart man that he is, he stops asking questions. I take the opportunity to reflect. Is my manager right? What if I can’t do it…work and succeed at motherhood? If I can’t get the first day of school right, how will I handle the tough stuff. Like puberty. Bigger kids, bigger problems. And there are two of them!
Suddenly, I’m overcome with the need to make this right. I flick the turn signal for our exit, and then veer right instead of left, taking us in the opposite direction of home.
“What are you doing?” Hank asks.
“Getting the boys to school.”
Hank sighs. “Sam, they are in no shape to go to school. You…we,” he quickly amends, “aren’t in any shape to be seen. Let it go.”
“Let it go?” I whisper-yell. “How can I let it go? I’ve messed up one of the most important days of their lives, not to mention made a horrible impression with their teachers. The school district. Our neighbors.”
He lovingly places his hand over mine. “No matter when they start, it’ll be their first day. We’ll make tomorrow special.”
I shake my head. “Please. I need to do this.”
He considers my request, finally telling me, “Okay.”
“Thank you.”
We pull into the school, scoring a front-row parking spot. As we dash to the front door and wait to be buzzed in, I wonder if our luck is changing. I’m convinced the answer’s yes when a woman with a kind face lets us inside.
“Can I help you?” Her voice is just as sweet.
Here goes nothing.
“This is going to sound crazy, but I mixed up the dates and didn’t realize we were missing the first day of school until we were on the way back from vacation this morning. I know it’s late, but can the kids please go to their class,” I pause to look at my watch, “for the next ten minutes? I’d hate for them to completely miss everything.”
She regards me and then looks over the children, likely wondering what rock we crawled out from under. The woman looks at me and smiles kindly, taking my hand. “Oh, dear. You haven’t missed anything. School starts tomorrow.”
“What?” I gasp. “But…my friends took pictures. Their kids were all posing in front of the school bus.” I think back to the text. I only saw it for a few seconds but I’m positive it said something like, “Ready for their first day.”
The woman drapes her arm around my shoulder and walks me toward the main office with my family following close behind.
“I’m Mrs. York. Have a seat while we straighten this out.”
I break down in tears as she hands me the schedule. In black and white is tomorrow’s date. I should be happy. After all, I was right. I didn’t ruin their first day of school. But I did ruin the last day of our vacation. And now I’m literally crying in the principal’s office of all places.
“Mistakes happen all the time,” Mrs. York tells me. “The good news is you didn’t their first day. Tell me, what street do live on?”
“Maple Street.”
“Ahh,” she says, digging through the bus schedule. “I think I understand what happened. Do you know Mr. Ferguson?”
“Yes, he lives a few houses down. We’ve only met him a few times.”
“Mr. Ferguson is a bus driver for the school district, mainly for the high school. One of his neighbors was nervous about her daughter taking the bus, so he got permission to take the kids and parents in your neighborhood for a trial run today so tomorrow wasn’t so overwhelming.”
Trial run?
Days ago, Cindy stopped me on the sidewalk. She kept going on and on about how glitter was the herpes of arts and crafts, because it never goes away. The conversation turned to the first day of school, but by that point I’d already tuned her out; I had enough on my mind. I left
to her saying she’d “see me there.” I had no clue what she was talking about, and I didn’t ask.
I break down further, confessing fail after fail. Today. Enrollment for Little Munchkins. My phone. Work. To her credit, Mrs. York listens to it all. Not once does she look at me with anything but understanding as I describe the guilt and incompetence I’m experiencing.
“Let me tell you story.” She plucks a framed picture from her desk and hands it to me. “See this? I accidentally sent my son to his first day of kindergarten wearing his sister’s shirt. It was my first day as Assistant Principal, and I admit I was more than a little frazzled.” I look closely at the upset boy with a floral collared shirt. “Then there was the time I volunteered to chaperone his second-grade trip to the zoo. I was so worried about keeping the other kids together, I lost track of my own child. Poor Ben ended up swimming with the penguins.” She laughs and leans forward. “But you know what? He survived. We both did. That’s all any of us mothers can do.”
Listening to her experience I feel lighter. “Thank you for sharing that.”
She pats my hand. “Were you able to attend the classroom tour?”
“No, we were on vacation.”
“Well, you’re here now. Let’s have a look.”
We follow her down the hall, stopping to glance in the library, gym and lunchroom. I couldn’t be more grateful when we reach their classroom.
Mrs. York stops outside the door, producing a camera I hadn’t noticed. “Family photo?”
“You want to take a picture of us like this?” She cannot be serious. My boobs are practically hanging out and Parker’s basically wearing a dress.
“Trust me, one day you’ll look back on this day with fondness.”
I relent, because she’s the principal and I’m hoping she’s right. I’m also hoping her offer to speak with the head of Little Munchkins, who incidentally drives a purple pick-up truck, leads to enrollment for the boys.
I’m not holding my breath.
After inspecting the room, we thank Mrs. York, and finally head home to prepare for their real first day of school.
Hours later, after the kids are bathed, Hank and I tuck them in bed. I change into sweats and meet Hank in the living room where he’s relaxing in front of the television. Smiling, he pours me a glass of wine.
“You’re kidding, right?” I let him keep the glass. I take the bottle.
“I’m glad we took that picture.”
“How come?” I ask.
“They’re young. Do you have any idea how many things we’re going to fuck up over the years? We need to celebrate the chaos, not let it take us over.”
I shrug. “Maybe you’re right.”
“Maybe? Today could have been much worse, Sam. It’s not like we missed their birthday or a sporting event. Hell, they could have walked in on us having sex or found out Santa Claus isn’t real. This was nothing.”
Our momentary laughter is killed by the screaming behind us. In tandem, we turn, coming face-to-face with our sons standing at the bottom of the stairs, clutching their blankets in horror.
“Santa’s not real?” Logan squeaks out.
“What’s sex?” Parker adds.
I cringe and look up at my husband. “I’ll take mythical figures, you get reproduction.”
We swig our wine and walk the boys up to bed. It’s going to be a long night.
About the Author
Teresa Michaels lives outside of Boston with her husband and children, the loves of her life. During the day she puts her master's degree in Organizational Psychology to use in the corporate world, and creates steamy stories at night. In her free time, she can be found skiing or playing in the sand with her family...or indulging in chocolate with her nose in a book.
In late 2014, she self-published her first book, Curveball (book one in the Curveball series, a romantic suspense duet), and is currently finishing Hostile Takeover, the second stand alone in her Employee Relations series.
Teresa is currently working on several projects and loves to hear from her readers. If you'd like to reach out to her you can email her at [email protected].
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https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008434742883
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Also by Teresa Michaels
Conflict of Interest (Employee Relations Book 1)
Curveball
Rundown (Curveball Book 2)
Seven’s a Crowd
Alissa York
Seven’s a Crowd
The door creaks closed, but I don’t trust him to not come back so I stay still, keeping my breathing even. He always forgets something. I don’t hear shoes on the stairs, so I don’t remove the tiny feet from my side or take my blanket back from the little stowaway. Sure enough, the bedroom door opens again and my husband slides back in. His work shoes shuffle across the floor, there’s a weight on the bed, and he kisses my forehead. I can’t resist then. I roll over and peek an eye open.
“Had to kiss you goodbye.” He rubs his scruff into my hair.
“You wake this kid up and I’ll kick your ass, birthday or not,” I hiss at him. Rick smiles and kisses me again.
“For my birthday, I wanna fuck you in my new La-Z-Boy,” he growls in my ear, making me bite my lip. “See ya tonight.” I blink back up at him and nod. In the blue light from Cam’s nightlight, I study the hungry look in his brown eyes and have to kiss him again.
“Happy birthday,” I whisper against his mouth at the same time Cam shifts, digging his tiny heels further into my side and making me grunt. I shoo Rick out and wait to hear him go all the way down the stairs. The car starts and my husband is gone. I have a million things to do and a three-year-old to corral while I do it.
For once, I need to be super mom and my morning routine has to go according to plan. Otherwise, the La-Z-Boy Rick so desperately wants to fuck on won’t be here, then we have to have another quickie in the laundry room. Mommy is a little over quickies in the laundry room.
I slide away from Cam and check the clock; I have an hour to get all the kids up and out the door to school, then be here for the furniture delivery and manage to go get the cake and decorate before I need to get back in line to pick them up from school. This all sounds easy, but doing anything with a three-year-old in tow is like trying to baptize and then herd cats. It’s impossible. Not to mention the fact that people are coming over and the house looks like we have five kids.
When you have the world’s most amazing husband and father, you go to great lengths for his birthday, and for once, I need to throw a party that doesn’t end poorly.
With my time crunch, I hop out of bed and instantly realize how Cam got in my bed this time. I step on the overturned laundry basket, flipping it back over and falling forward. Thankfully, the dog breaks my fall, but my cheek still meets the partially opened bottom drawer on my dresser. Lucy yelps, the wind is knocked out of me, and I roll off the dog to cover my eye and cheek. Lucy scrambles to the corner near the door. I groan and wait for Cam to wake up, but nothing happens. Once the room stops spinning, I manage to get up and make it to the bathroom. After a bathroom break, I inspect the damage to my face. No blood, but from my nose to the corner of my eye is already purple and swollen. Awesome. My husband is turning forty, we have a party to host, and I have a shiner.
I throw on my best yoga pants from the dryer and am searching for a shirt in the darkness, trying to be as quiet as possible. Waking Cam up last is the easiest way to accomplish anything in the mornings. Unfortunately, it rarely works that way. Today it seems like luck is on my side as I walk very quietly toward the door, shoes in hand, and reach for the knob. Cam shifts and I freeze. He’s so beautiful with his dark waves and fat baby cheeks. He’s the spitting image of his dad, just like the rest of my gorgeous kids. My husband’s genes overpowered min
e in a big way all five times.
Once I know Cam is staying asleep, I focus on leaving the room as quietly as possible. Lucy needs to be walked, but even she understands the need for quiet with Cam snoozing away. Lucas does not understand that need. My true middle child comes bursting through the door, managing to let Lucy go scrambling down the stairs and hitting me in the shoulder.
“Tell Alex she can’t have my Batman hoodie!” Lucas clutches the clothing to his chest like he might die if his sister takes it. Have kids close together, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Cam whimpers behind me and the morning has officially begun.
Alex comes bursting in, shoving Lucas out of the way. “Let me borrow it! Please?” Alex grabs for the jacket, but Lucas spins and runs down the stairs, laughing maniacally. I huff and pick up the whining, tired little one from my bed. My only daughter is more boyish than all four boys combined.
“I’ll give it back.” She rolls her eyes at me.
“I don’t doubt it, Alex, but it’s his. Don’t bully your brother into submission,” I deadpan, knowing exactly what lengths she’ll go to in order to wear the hoodie. The girl is persistent. Cam clings to my shoulders, Alex trudges down the stairs, and Jordan stumbles out of the room across the hall. He throws a hand up, grumbles something unintelligible and slams the bathroom door. Teenagers are awesome.
About a year ago, I came up with this amazing morning regimen. When you have a million kids, you need a routine. I planned it out, wrote it down, and went over it with all the kids. There was one flaw in the plan: me. I am not super mom, I do not get up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast, and if I did, I would probably burn it. Today, I need a little of the super mom vibe to pull off a party on a weekday.
Downstairs is total chaos and the oldest and youngest haven’t even joined in the fun. Alex and Lucas are yelling across the table, and Trent is trying to referee. “Finally!” Lucas gestures at me. “Tell her no!”
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