The Secret Exploits of a SAHM – Chapter One – Frickin’ Nuggets

11 Jun

PREFACE

For those of you who don’t know, SAHM means Stay At Home Mom. Just in case….I have been asked what that means.

This is a no holds barred account of my short-term experience as a SAHM. I have never been a SAHM before. Ever. I have never NOT worked since I was 16 years old. This is extremely new and weird to me. I have been off on maternity leave a few times but that was 8 weeks at the most. And even less with my last one. I think I was only off for 4 weeks that time. By no holds barred, I mean that I am giving an honest account of what I think. I am not sugar-coating my thoughts. But I am not saying every single thing in this book is true. It is not an autobiography. There is some freedom with the truth. But it is a fictional book, loosely based on reality. (I am still working with Barnes & Noble on what type of genre this would fall under.) And I am only saying what we have probably all thought at one point or another. I apologize in advance for swear words. This is not for children to read. It is an adult book. A mommy book, if you will. Mommies will understand whether you work full-time, part-time or not at all. Incidentally, I do not know how long I will be a SAHM. So far it is for the summer only. Then the hubs is probably going to make me go back to work. But for now, with the kids home and needing to be carted off to various camps and sports practices, this was the best option for us.

The other thing I need to be clear about is that I love my children and my husband immensely. I would catch a grenade for them. I would throw my hand on a blade for them. I would jump in front of a train for them. I would take a bullet straight to the brain for them. (Thank you, Bruno Mars, for capturing my exact thoughts so exquisitely.) But even with all of this love, you still have those days. The easy days aren’t as fun to write about. When you write about the easy days when the children are angelic, it just makes people think you are bragging. That is what bumper stickers and Christmas letters are for.

No, this book captures THOSE days. And I hope you enjoy it.

Hugs & Kisses,

D.M. Wright

CHAPTER ONE – FRICKIN’ NUGGETS

I swing around the pole with ease, making sure I have just the right mixture of sexy and confidence on my face. The strobe lights dance off the silkiness of my stockings and my 3 inch black, t-strap heels as I flip myself upside down and slide down the pole. I catch the eye of a handsome, well-dressed man holding a fifty dollar bill. I flip back over and slide onto my stomach and then onto the floor in one graceful, fluid motion. I crawl over to him slowly and seductively. He reaches out to tuck the bill into my cleavage.

He whispers, “Here’s your change, Ma’am.”

“Ma’am!” He shouts.

Only it wasn’t him shouting; it was the irritated, nasally voice of the drive thru window attendant at a popular fast food place. I am catapulted out of my delicious daydream and right back into reality. Complete with a pair of sunglasses hitting the back of my head. One of my boys threw them at me from the back of the car.

“OW!” I exclaim. I rub my head. That one smarted! “Fuckers,” I mumble. I can’t express how many times they have injured me in their horse-play or even just walking by. I have lost toes, people.

I look at the teen still holding out my change. “Sorry.” I mutter and pull up to the next window.

The incessant arguing going on in the car right now is enough to make me scream. So what if I escape to a happy place where I am a sexy, desired woman sometimes, so what? Who the hell can blame me?

“Mommy! He won’t stop kicking my seat!” The middle one whines.

“NOOO! YOU keep leaning your seat back on ME!” The oldest one shouts.

The baby starts screaming.

I sigh. “STOP IT! OR NO ONE IS GETTING ANY NUGGETS!!!” I yell loudly.

Someone clears their throat to my left. I turn and look at a second irate teen. This one is a little bit Goth.

“Your food, ma’am,” she says, holding out the bag. Her nose ring sparkles in the sunlight. I used to have a nose ring. A small “diamond” stud. I used to feel young and cool. But now, I am somebody’s mother. The farthest away from cool you could possibly be. I take the food and drinks from her.

“Would you like any sauce for the nuggets, ma’am?” She asks woodenly.

“Would you please stop calling me ‘ma’am’?” I ask her back. “No, thank you. No sauce necessary.” I smile briefly and move on out of the driveway. “Ma’am,” I grumble. It’s the worst thing you could be called in your thirties. A sign of respect, my ass! It’s a sign that you’re just as old as ass, maybe!

I drive home, silence filling the car. Oh, wait, no, that’s not right….there is never silence in MY car!

By the time I get everyone and everything out of the car and upstairs enjoying their frickin’ nuggets, I am a sweaty, disheveled mess. I plunk the crying, fussy baby in his crib with a bottle and sit down on the couch for just a few seconds.

“Mommy! He spilled his drink!” The oldest one tattles.

“Just clean it up!” I yell out tiredly. I throw my arms over my head. Just five minutes….can I just have five minutes of whine-free quiet time? Thank goodness summer camp starts next week. They’ve only been out of school a day and a half and I am going mad! I love them to death but each of them are in their own phases of defiance and pushing boundaries. How long does this last? One on one they are perfect angels. Together, all they do is argue and tattle. I know that will never change.

The door bell rings. I get up to open the door to find a tall, handsome, Latin man.

“Hola, senora bonita, I have come to take you away from all of this,” he gestures with his hand to my humble abode and in the most absolute sexiest voice I have ever heard. Imagine Antonio Banderas on ultra sexy crack.

“My name is Calgon. But you can call me Cal,” he brings my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it tenderly. I look into his velvety chocolate eyes and follow him out the door.

“You’re in charge,” I call out faintly to the oldest one as Calgon leads me to his sexy, black Dodge Challenger. He helps me into the passenger side and then slides across the hood to the driver’s side. Sexy as hell. I expected him to climb in through the window, too, but it was closed. He got in the car and revved the engine.

“I will be hoping to rev your engine later, mi amor,” he purrs in his sexy accent.

I giggle at his words as we tear off down the street. I haven’t giggled in a long time.

Calgon looks at me inquisitively. “Why are you giggling, Mommy?” he asks in a childish voice. “Can I have a popsicle?”

DAMN IT, CHILD, FIVE MINUTES! I scream in my head. But out loud, I say, “Yes, of course you can.” I sigh. “Oh, Calgon, take me away,” I whisper and throw my head back against the couch. The baby starts screaming.

“Mommy. Mom. Mama. Mom. Mum. Mommy. Mom.” The oldest is in front of me now doing his best Stewie impersonation.

“Quit it.” I say with a frown.

“But, Mom!” He says, impatiently.

“Yes?” Teeth are a little clenched, I have to admit.

“The baby is crying.”

“Thank you for telling me. I was not aware of this.” I say, quietly.

“How can you NOT hear him?” He huffs and walks away. Then he turns back with a smile, “Oh, I know, I know! That was STARCASM!” He laughs.

I sigh. Then I am beaned in the forehead by a frickin’ chicken nugget.

“Calgon?” I sob.

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