I smile as I turn to my pot. I'm just draining the pasta out when my husband walks in. I smile at him, happy to have everyone under one roof again and he comes to stand behind me, drops a kiss on my neck and grinds his pelvis into my ass.
"Hey, baby. How was your day?" he asks as he moves my hair aside and presses a trail of kisses up the side of my neck and then nips my earlobe. I put the colander down in the sink and turn around in his arms. I rise up on my toes and press a kiss to his mouth. I drop back down so my feet are flat. “Well, James' teacher thinks I'm a deadbeat and also knows I lied about him losing a form. Ms. Jessica at Pinwheel is probably writing a letter to child protective services to tell them that we expose our children to sexually explicit music. And I'll have to work from home tomorrow and deal with my colleagues acting like I'm just sitting here on vacation. But otherwise, you know. It was cool."
He leans back a little, his beautiful brown eyes scanning my face. And for a moment, we just linger and take each other in. Then he says, "Eh, fuck it. Nobody died, right?"
God, I love this man. No matter how badly I fail ALL day, he makes me feel like I'm Mother of the Year.
"Nope, not only are they all alive, they still have all their fingers and toes. So, I think that calls for a celebration." I step out of his embrace and walk to our wine fridge. He walks back to the bedroom to change while I pour us each a glass of wine.
We're just clinking glasses as we sit at the counter, hip to hip on our stools having toasted to our epic parenting skills when we hear a scream from upstairs.
"Mommy, Daddy, Jack bit me!" screams James.
We look at each other, he says, "You want to run away?"
"Absolutely," I say.
And then we put our glasses down and walk upstairs, hand in hand to calm our restless natives.
When I get into bed later on that evening, I'm tired beyond words. Too tired for more than a goodnight kiss from my husband. As I fall asleep, I remember how sweet my kids smelled as I kissed them good night. They sleepily mumbled, "I love you, Mommy." I hear my husband's light snoring and feel the heat of his chest pressed into my back as he holds me in his sleep. I'll never win Mom of the Year and my house looks like Toys R' Us after a black Friday sale. But, my kids know they're loved. And like my husband said, "Nobody, died." So, I'm calling today a win.
The End.
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Also by Dylan Allen
Rise
Remember
Battery Operated
Stephie Walls
Battery Operated
I used to think children today were so lucky to have all the electronics and gadgets that weren’t available when I was younger: the toys that made real animal noises, the nightlights that played music, the furry stuffed animals that talked. In fact, I was so enamored by these precious gems, I gave them out like Halloween candy at birthday parties and Christmas. Every child in my life adored my gift-giving ability. If they had their heart set on electronic drums, or a karaoke machine, or any other equally animated gizmo, I was their go-to girl. I never understood why my friends and family got so irritated by my giving their rugrats what they’d asked for…that was until I had my own.
Fast forward four years post-delivery. My sister had always insisted I would pay down the road for the gifts I’d bestowed upon her children in my childless years. I never had any idea just how painful the words “just wait” could be. The family had all gathered for my daughter’s birthday. Jessie bounced around all day in anticipation of the party. That one day—no, that one party—two measly hours irrevocably changed my life for the foreseeable future.
Jessie sat on the living room floor, tearing into each gift thoughtfully chosen for my sweet girl. I loaded the camera with images of her smiling face, her excitement at the sight of her first Barbie doll, the way she lit up with a new Doc McStuffins DVD, and each gift brought more joy than the last. Nothing made me happier than to see her infectious grin. She got to my sister’s gift last. The purple metallic bag exploded with multi-colored, polka-dotted paper that drew everyone’s attention—but it was what was inside that ruined my life.
My sister forced my hand.
I had a choice to make. It was the dog or me—I waged war.
As a single parent, I was grateful for everything others did for my child and me. But Roly the Dog was a cruel joke that might end in my family’s estrangement…or my child becoming an orphan at an early age. As soon as Jessie had the stuffed animal out of the package, she’d gotten my brother-in-law’s help putting the batteries in to give Roly life.
“Hey, Sophie.” My sister addressed me from across the room while we watched to see what this magnificent toy creature could do. Alexis reached into her purse and then tossed a gigantic bundle of AA-batteries in my direction. “I got her the economy pack.” She winked at me and then turned to Jessie. “If Mommy runs out of batteries, you call Auntie A, and I’ll bring you more.”
At the time, I’d thought it was a sweet gesture, but looking back, I realized it was carefully plotted revenge. Roly had been sent from Satan to drive me insane—he was retribution for all those “wonderful” gifts I’d given to my nieces and nephews before I knew.
For the rest of the night, Jessie dangled that puppy from her left hand relentlessly. She refused to put Roly down. I loved that the gift my daughter received from her aunt and uncle enamored her, but I should have heeded the warning on the box, “The canine mentalist.” Those three words weren’t intended as a caution by the manufacturer, but they should have been. To set Roly off, all anyone had to do was clap their hands, which four-year-olds do incessantly, and even more when they realized they could get a reaction from it. With each clap, Roly howled with laughter and twirled in Jessie’s little hand. The gadget was designed to roll on the floor, but Jessie did nothing but hold the animated vermin by the front legs, causing the dog to squirm in her tiny grasp. After an evening of Roly’s antics and Jessie’s constant clapping, I neared the end of my rope…but my pain had only just begun.
Once our family left, Roly accompanied us for Jessie’s bath where he stayed in constant motion and never shut up. I tried to remain patient knowing just how much my daughter had fallen for this floppy eared pet, but it had been a long day, and I was desperate for the peace and quiet that normally surrounded our house this time of night.
The moment she was out of the tub, Roly resumed his position in her left hand—my little Linus had her very own blanket. I could only hope her infatuation with the gift would be short lived. Jessie climbed into bed, placing Roly on her tummy while I read her a bedtime story. Just as my angel dosed off, I got up to walk around the bed and out the door, and Roly erupted in obnoxious laughter and flopped around on Jessie’s belly—instantly waking her. I didn’t know what had set the puppy off, but he was entirely too loud, and my child was now wide awake.
“Jessie, why don’t we put Roly away for the night?” My tired eyes wouldn’t stay open much longer. I needed my daughter to sleep so I could.
“No,” she wailed with tears that followed. “He’ll be scared, Mama.”
“But, baby, he’s so loud.” Reasoning with a four-year-old was a waste of time.
“He’ll be quiet. I promise.” Her sobs subsided as she tried to convince me she could control the dog. “I’ll put him under the covers, so he doesn’t wake up.” Her bottom lip puffed out, and her tear-soaked lashes batted at me in the most adorable fashion.
I sighed and gave in. Jessie stuffed Roly under her comforter, and I read her one more story and then turned out the lights and went to bed.
It might have been five minutes or five hours, but that damn dog’s laughter woke
me from a dead sleep. My body darted up in the pitch black of night, disoriented. It took me several minutes with a pounding heart to realize just what had startled me. When I heard it again, I thought for sure I’d hear Jessie next, but I sat there waiting as my heart slowed, anticipating her cries, and when nothing came, I laid back down. Somewhere between sleep and awake—or maybe light sleep and REM, who knows— my body bolted up again, scared by an animated stuffed animal in another room.
I had no idea what kept setting the stupid thing off, but I refused to spend my entire night trying to sleep through his giggles. It was maniacal laughter, really. The more I heard the sound in the dead of night, the creepier the pooch got. In my mind, Roly had morphed into Cujo and was after my defenseless daughter. Leaping from the bed with irrational thoughts plaguing me, I darted off to Jessie’s room. She rolled over just as I entered, and the damn thing started laughing again—taunting me.
In my haste to find the dog in the dark, I threw the comforter back waking Jessie and setting the toy off. It had to have a motion sensor on it. My daughter started crying when I grabbed her prized lovie. Unable to get it to stop rolling around and mocking me, I flipped the light switch on. Jessie’s bottom lip poked out, threatening tears as I manhandled the furry thing, desperate to find an off switch. That failing, I pulled the batteries from Roly mid-cackle. His lifeless body lingered in my hand, and my shoulders slumped. It should have felt like a victory, but all I sensed was defeat.
“You killed him!” my daughter wailed as though I’d literally murdered her puppy standing in front of her.
Tired and cranky, I wasn’t interested in the meltdown that ensued. I just wanted to go back to bed and try to get some rest. “I didn’t kill him, Jess. I just took the batteries out.”
Snot had started to form under her nose, and her shoulders shook when tears racked her little body. “Put them back! He was my present. Put them back.”
Nothing I did soothed her. Hugs. Kisses. Rubbing her back. Nada.
It never ceased to amaze me just how stubborn children could be—I swore this kid could hold her breath until she passed out and wake up only to do it again until she got her way. After thirty minutes of an endless tantrum at two in the morning, I gave in. I put the batteries back in the dog, handed him to her, and told her I was closing the door so he didn’t keep me awake. Her tears dried instantly, and the smile I normally adored seemed to sneer back at me triumphantly. There wasn’t a mean bone in that child’s body, but there wasn’t a kid alive who wasn’t born a manipulator—and mine was one of the best.
Throughout the remainder night, I continued to hear the muffled laughter of that horrendous gift. I tried putting a pillow over my head to block out the noise. I tried ear plugs but decided that wasn’t safe in case Jessie needed me. I even moved downstairs to the couch, but that obnoxious thing echoed like it was next to my face. Tomorrow, my sister would die. I hated to do it, but she would have to pay the ultimate price...either that or take custody of my daughter and that wretched toy.
I struggled through the morning. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to make last night disappear, and to top it off, Jessie had insisted on carrying Roly everywhere she went. It turned out the ugly-ass looking mole on the damn thing’s forehead was a motion sensor. I knew my daughter loved the toy; I only hoped it was a short-lived fascination…and in the meantime, I had to find a way to survive.
“Jessie, it looks like Roly has a boo-boo on his head.”
She stared at the dog and then back to me. “I don’t see one?” Her voice filled with concern.
“Bring him here, let me show you.”
Clutching him tightly to her chest, she wandered over and then handed him to me. I pointed to the odd third eye strategically placed on the dog’s brow. “Right here.”
“Oh, no.” Her childlike voice almost wrecked me. The despair, the fear that something could be wrong with her precious new woobie nearly broke my resolve. Nearly.
“I think a Band-Aid will fix it up nicely.” Cover the sensor, wipe out the sound.
“Okay, Mama. Can it be princess?”
I sucked as a parent. The princess Band-Aids were sacred in Jessie’s world. They only got used in the most “severe” cases…marker “bruises,” nail polish “cuts,” and the dreaded “I don’t want to go to bed because cartoons are on owies.” But here she was, offering one to this stupid animal that hadn’t stopped laughing since she’d opened the box. She loved Roly, and I despised him with every fiber of my being.
But instead of relenting, giving in, allowing her to continue enjoying her birthday present that was less than twenty-four hours old, I was determined to find a way to stifle the intolerable creature. “Of course.” The smile I offered was as fake as the sentiment, but Jessie didn’t notice. She left Roly with me while going to get the coveted princess bandage.
The dog looked ridiculous with a purple Princess Jasmine plastered to its fur, but I silently patted myself on the back for having shut him up. And thanked God for a small miracle. That was until my sister showed up.
I never should have let her in.
“Jessie, what’s wrong with your puppy?” Alexis poked the bear the moment she walked into the house.
“Did you need something, Lex?” I tried to distract her.
“Mama said he had a mole on his head that needed a Band-Aid. So we fixed him.” She held the dog in the air to show my sister our handy work.
Alexis took Roly, glanced at the Band-Aid, then turned her scowl toward me. “Oh no, Jessie, that’s not a mole. That’s what helps Roly know when he needs to make you smile.” She ripped the purple princess off the fur in one swipe and didn’t take her eyes off me as she did it.
Then she demonstrated how the fucking thing worked and explained in great detail that the “mole” was Roly’s third eye…the one that made him cackle. Grrr. Alexis stared over Jessie’s head at me with a smug look as if to say, “Payback’s a bitch.”
She sent Jessie on her way with a fully functioning Roly and then turned back to me. “Seriously, Sophie? A mole?”
“That damn thing is Satan incarnate! Have you heard the horrible laughter?” I was beside myself, throwing my hands in the air and wailing about the injustice of a toddler’s toy.
“I seem to recall an electric guitar you gave Collin for his sixth birthday…with an amp. Do you really think I have any sympathy for you over a laughing dog?”
“You’re going to hell on a short bus.”
She turned to walk out the door and tossed a wave goodbye over her shoulder. I had no idea why she’d come by, but maybe it was just to ensure I hadn’t decapitated the precious Roly. Or maybe she feared for her life if she stuck around after seeing the state I was in thanks to that horrid toy.
“And there won’t be any wine.” I hollered at her back, to which she wiggled her fingers too-da-loo.
The rest of the day I did nothing but daydream of ways to disarm Roly. Permanently. Removing the batteries wouldn’t work—Jessie knew we had more and would drive me insane until I replaced them. I pondered accidentally rolling over it in the driveway with the car, but then there’d have to be a funeral which would result in more tears from my little girl. Nuking him was out of the question—I’d never be able to explain how he got in there, and it might destroy the microwave in the process. No matter how much I wanted to snatch him and throw the furball into the trash can outside, I couldn’t bring myself to cause my daughter abandonment issues.
For days, I heard that damn dog everywhere I went. Jessie took him to daycare, she ate with him, slept with him, bathed with him on the counter. He only left her grubby little paw when there was no other option, and even then, he remained in eye sight—not more than an arm’s length away. Never in my life had I harbored such resentment for an inanimate object…but I hated that toy. Loathed it. Just seeing her carry it around made me cringe, wondering how long it would be before he erupted in laughter. Each day that passed, she became more attached, and regar
dless of the creative ways I’d planned his destruction, I couldn’t bring myself to tear her new friend away.
Seventeen torturous days after Roly arrived in our lives, heaven opened its gates and light shone down.
Sitting at the breakfast table, Jessie had placed Roly next to her plate where he rolled around and knocked things over. The mere sound of that dog set me off. Every morning, without fail, my day went to shit before we even made it out the door. I hadn’t slept worth a damn, and last night he’d fallen out of the bed. I checked on Jessie before I went to sleep and set the little fucker off when he sensed motion. After nearly dying from a heart attack and almost crapping my pants out of sheer terror, I threw him back in the bed and knew there was no other option…he had to go.
I just had no idea how quickly it would happen. I had just poured the milk onto Jessie’s cereal and orange juice in her glass when the dog went off. Before Jessie could grab him, he dumped her full glass of OJ all over her. In her haste to move away from the spilled cup, she jumped up, knocked the cereal bowl onto the table and floor…and subsequently, all over Roly.
It happened so quickly that I temporarily forgot the stuffed animal. Jessie stood back and watched me clean up the mess on the table and then the floor. When I stood with Roly in my hand, he was covered in soggy Corn Flakes and a mixture of milk and orange juice. His matted fur stuck to his stuffed body, but while he continued to laugh, Jessie cried.
“Mama, you have to clean him. He’s messy. And sticky.” She picked the cereal pieces off his body and tossed them onto the table while she pleaded with me.
“The only thing I can do is put him in the washing machine, Jess.” I knew. There wasn’t an ounce of my being that didn’t know exactly what the water would do to Roly. And I didn’t care. I’d always wanted to be Mother of the Year, and this would ensure my reign. Hell, I could probably bronze the sash after this.
#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms Page 12
