The Secret Exploits of a SAHM – Chapter Two – Boot-y Call

18 Jun


BOOT-Y CALL

By D.M. Wright

“Mommy? Did you know that ‘Mommy’ and ‘maid’ start with M? That means you’re my maid.” I pause from feeding the baby in his high chair and look up at my middle child.

“I’m so glad you’re learning to spell. It sure does mean that. And as your maid, I am asking for a raise. You don’t pay me nearly enough to clean up after you.” I put my hands on my hips and look at my blonde-haired, blue-eyed middle child sternly. He looks so different from the rest of us dark-haired members that I often wonder if he’s mine.

“I don’t have any money,” he exclaims.

“Well now what are we going to do?” I throw my hands in the air.

“I could ask Daddy for some?” he suggests.

“How ’bout you pay me in kisses?” I grab him and smother his face with kisses.

“No! Stop, Mommy! That’s gross!” He’s laughing and trying to shove me away.

“Are you sure? I think I have more kisses in my other purse!” I start tickling him, too.

“STOP!” he exclaims, out of breath.

“OK, OK,” I smile and kiss him one last time on the head. I turn back to feed the baby a spoonful of food and am rewarded with a sneeze; “Harvest Vegetables” are now sprinkled on my face. “Seriously, kid…manners.” I wipe my face, “Say ‘Excuse me’!”

“BAAA!” He shouts instead.

“Mommy, can I have a popsicle?!” My cherub calls out from the freezer.

“You’re going to turn into a popsicle!” I call back. Why do I do that? Instantly I am my mother. Yes or no would suffice.

“Does that mean ‘Yes’?” he asks.

“Sure.” Why not? It’s hot outside. It keeps him quiet. And 10 more minutes and his sugar rush is the camp counselor’s problem.

I clean up the baby and get everyone into the car to go to camp. It would be nice if this baby started walking already. I have to lug his 25 lb ass around enough! Although my arms have never been so toned!

When we walk into the park district day camp, the all-day kids are getting ready to go to the pool. It’s mass chaos. A cloud of sunblock is so thick in the air that I believe you would be sufficiently covered should you choose to walk through it. My kid is half-day so we applied the sunblock earlier at home. My oldest is among the full-day kids and trying not to notice us.

I sign him in and I am off for the afternoon! My only concern is the giant baby. But he naps the whole time so it’s like he’s not even there…

—–

“Would you like to donate to Muscular Dystrophy?” The fireman asks at my window, holding up his boot. I turn to look at him and my jaw drops. The visor on his helmet is raised, exposing his tanned and perfect skin, plus the whitest teeth I have ever seen. His sparkling blue eyes blink at me in awe. “I…I’m sorry,” he stutters. “But you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen,” he swallows convulsively.

“That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard,” I whisper in shock.

He opens the door and reaches in to unbuckle my seat belt. I am bombarded by his masculine scent: aftershave, soap and just a little bit of sweat. He grabs my hands and pulls me out of my seat.

I stand and look up at him. He is a good two feet taller than me.

“Miss, you completely take my breath away,” he gasps and grabs my face, weaving his fingers through my hair. I blink at him, quite obviously still in shock.

He covers my lips with his and probes my teeth with his tongue. I barely have time to react when he pulls away, breathless. I stand there, my hands in the air, not quite sure where to put them.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t know what came over me.”

I shrug, chest heaving, trying to capture air. “It’s all right. You certainly made my day.” I manage to get out.

Suddenly I am aware of horns blaring. Clearly we’ve been holding up traffic.

“Ma’am! Forget the money – the light is green! GO!” The fireman yells at me, kiss forgotten.

I gasp and jerk back to the real world. I drop the change I was scrounging for and slowly pull forward, mortified, and just in time for the next red light. I hear shouting and more honking.

“Perfect,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. I make a mental note: Must avoid this intersection in future at all costs.

—–

I pull into my driveway, finally home from my embarrassing journey. I busy myself with getting the baby and his accouterments out of the car. Still flustered, I keep dropping things. Usually I am a pack-horse as I am sure most moms are, avoiding 8 trips up the stairs (or even 2). I load up my arms with some shopping bags from earlier in the day and finally the baby. Today I can’t handle it. I am a complete mess. To make matters worse, the giant baby keeps trying to grab everything, throwing off my balance.

I finally get everything into my arms, a package of toilet paper balances precariously on my baby-free arm, when he lunges for the package. It goes flying, along with my sanity. I sigh, a sweaty mess yet again.

“Let me help you.”

I turn to find my neighbor who picks up the T.P. and then grabs other items from me.

“Thank you,” I exclaim. “I think I have bit off more than I can chew.” I laugh nervously.

He smiles. “I get it. It must be so hard to do everything with the baby.”

“Yes,” I smile back. He opens the front door and I follow him inside and up the stairs to my condo. Each building has four condos attached: two upstairs, two down. He lives in the one below us.

“Thanks so much for your help!” I say gratefully after we set everything down.

“No problem! Any time,” he grins and waves at the baby and leaves, closing the door behind him.

“What a nice guy!” I grin at the baby, too. “We’re putting you on a low-calorie diet now, Son.” I kiss his chubby cheeks and then yelp after he grabs hold of my eye socket, digging his fingers in. “OW! OK, no diet! I was kidding!”

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