#MomFail: 24 Authors & 24 Mom-Coms

by Shari J. Ryan

  “He’s asleep, babe. I promise you.”

  Famous last words. I trained my attention back on the man in front of me and took his shaft in my hand. If I was going to welcome him home, it was about time to get started. I didn’t know how long we would have before Parker woke up.

  I glanced up at him and took him into my mouth. A hiss slithered through his teeth right before he laced his fingers through my short locks, taking a fistful of hair at the back of my head with a hard, guiding yank. I watched his lids fall closed and his head drop to the side. When he opened his eyes, his sight trained solely on me, the green of his irises darkened with unbridled longing. The way his jaw ticked and his nostrils flared made my heart trip in my chest. He took in a deep breath, and it was obvious he was barely holding back his restraint.

  “My God, woman. I have missed this mouth. More.”

  Oh, yeah. Definitely more.

  I sucked harder and moved faster, using my other hand to work his cock up and down. He pistoned his hips, and I just couldn’t get enough of him. I grabbed his ass and pulled him closer. His breathing quickened, and I held on tighter. He was close. I felt it, and I wanted it all.

  The bed just would not stop squeaking! If we woke up that boy…

  His movements slowed, and he pulled out of my mouth with a loud pop. The squeaking stopped too, and once again, I listened for the sound of tiny feet. Now was not the time to be distracted, but if Parker walked in he would to get a show that we’d have to explain for days and then hope that he wouldn’t share with the other little minions in his daycare class.

  “If you think that after eight weeks I’m going to come that way, you’re so wrong. Get in that bed.”

  In a tangle of arms and legs, we landed on Parker’s mattress, trying hard not to make too much noise. Of course, I had to land on one of the kid’s robots right in my back. I pulled the toy out from under me and shook my head. I showed it to Sean, and he chuckled. He didn’t seem to care. He only had one thing in mind. As I lay back, I looked up to see posters of puppies in rescue outfits taped and pinned to Parker’s closet. More and more distractions. How am I supposed to be an adult in this room? Oh God, this is so wrong!

  I pulled the comforter over us and clutched tightly onto Sean’s shoulders. As soon as he slipped inside me, all my thoughts turned to him. We were in our own little cocoon. It was finally our time. I hooked my legs around his waist as he pushed in deeper and deeper. He whispered dirty words into my ear and grabbed my breast, giving my nipple a firm tug. I gasped a little too loudly, and he shushed me. It was so hard to be quiet. Oh, so good. I often worried that he didn’t like my breasts after I’d had had a baby. They weren’t nearly as perky as they used to be. Nevertheless, that didn’t seem to be a problem as he suckled and worshiped them. With a loud moan, I grabbed his ass and begged him to go harder, go faster, just go.

  The bed was so loud, but I wasn’t thinking, just feeling. I held onto his hips and focused on the way his cock swelled inside me. He pounded into me, telling me that I was his. His groans in our sex cocoon filled my ears, and I bit into his shoulder to keep from screaming through this amazing orgasm that was eight ridiculous weeks in the making. It began to tingle up my spine, so I held my breath and waited for it. My hips moved in time with his, faster still.

  So close. So close. Oh, my God….

  “Hey! What are you doing in my bed?”

  Oh. Shit.

  “I thought you closed the door!”

  “I did!”

  “Apparently not all the way!”

  “I’m sorry!”

  “Yeah, me too. Bye bye, big O!”

  My dear absentminded but clearly on one track thinking husband lifted his head from the comforter to see our son with his tiny hands on his little boy hips, trying very hard to look indignant with his parents.

  “Hey, buddy. I was just giving your mom a hug. Why don’t you go back to our room and I’ll be right there, okay?”

  I looked over to Parker from beneath my husband. Needless to say, I was mortified and wanted desperately to cover my head with the comforter. Oh, son. Did you have to pick this moment to wake up? With the sweetest smile on his face, he asked, “Hey, Mommy. Can I have a hug, too?”

  Oh. Damn.

  Rock Bottom

  Riann C. Miller

  Rock Bottom

  Riann C. Miller

  #MomFail

  Copyright © 2017 Riann C. Miller

  To every amazing yet imperfect mother. Remember, motherhood doesn’t come with a manual.

  Admitting defeat is not a sign of failure it’s merely a warning to stop and breathe, possibly seconds before hitting a drive-thru liquor store.

  Rock Bottom

  Mom Rage: Abrupt anger caused by stress and frustration involving your children.

  Treatment: An adult beverage (repeat every half-hour when needed), Prozac, Girl’s night out, or in extreme cases, an all-inclusive two-week vacation to an island of your choice for you and a friend.

  When I first saw those two little pink lines, my heart started to race while my eyes filled with tears of joy. I was determined to prove to the world that I could and would be the best mother possible. I not only thought I’d be my own reincarnated version of Mary Poppins, I foolishly believed I’d do whatever it took to ensure my child was always happy.

  The image I once had in my head and the reality of motherhood are very different. The truth is I’m a maid, chauffeur, tutor, your all-around guru of useless knowledge. For years, I gave it my all, but I’ve long since waved a white flag surrendering to the fact that a perfect mother is the equivalent of finding a unicorn.

  I no longer give a flying leap if my kids eat junk food before bed, watch too much TV, or spend the entire weekend with my parents. A good day—no, a freaking fantastic day—is one where no one breaks a bone, I get to pee with the bathroom door shut, and everyone’s in bed by ten o’clock. Screw running for mother of the year…I’m going to chalk life up as good when I’m not in the running for shittiest mother alive.

  My name is Megan Grayson, and this is a glimpse into my awe-inspiring, amazing, magnificent...dire, ugly, and disturbing attempt at parenting.

  My stomach turns from the smell of grease, shit and hand sanitizer. The upside to sitting in a hard chair at the mall playground, I’m gifted with the rare moment where I’m able to open my Kindle with minimal interruptions.

  “Mom! Mom, look at me.” My gaze moves from my Kindle in time to see Annabelle, my overly active four-year-old, flying at full speed down the slide.

  “That’s awesome,” I mumble, my eyes immediately returning to the words in front of me.

  “You didn’t even watch.” Her voice carries, gaining the attention of every mom within fifty feet.

  “Yes I did.”

  She squints her little eyes, placing a hand on her hip. “Did you see me throw my underwear over the side before I went down?”

  “Yes, of course…” Wait what?

  I sit up, my Kindle no longer a thought as I repeat, “Your underwear?”

  “Yep. That kid over there.” She points to the other side of the play area at a little boy in a yellow Sponge Bob Square Pants T-shirt wearing a wicked smile. “He told me my underwear was slowing me down. Now, I can go super fast.” She twirls her dress, unknowingly flashing me and everyone around us.

  “Belle,” I whisper with a tone while I glance around, hoping to spot a pair of panties. “If you’re not at home, you have to have panties on.”

  “But Aunt Lisa never wears any. She said when you want to have fun, they just get in the way.”

  “Never listen to Aunt Lisa. She claims to be a feminist to justify sleeping around.”

  Belle giggles, even though she has no idea what I said, then grabs the hem of my shirt and blows her nose.

  “Gee, thanks. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Ignoring the snot she wiped down the front of me, I elbow my way past a herd of children, keeping my eyes peeled toward the ground.
When I’m less than five feet from the slide, I spot a pair of pink and white panties. Just as I’m about to grab them, another little shit beats me to the punch. “Hey, those are mine.”

  “No, they’re not,” the little boy, not much older than Belle, screams before placing them over his head as he runs off.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I mentally take note if there’s a place in this damn mall that sells wine. Coming up empty handed both literally and figuratively, I walk back to where my ornery as hell daughter is standing. “You officially lost your first pair of panties to a boy. That better not happen again for a long time.” I sigh in frustration. “A really long time.”

  More than ready to get the heck out of here, I almost do a happy dance when I spot Remy, my ten-year old, walking toward us. “I’ll have to buy it next time. I didn’t have enough money.”

  “What?” My heart sinks. He’s been saving his money for months to purchase a solar robot. I have no idea what the stupid thing does, only that he wants one.

  “Yeah, the Tooth-fairy still owes me ten dollars. I asked the store if they’d take my IOU, but they said no.”

  Oh, damn. “She stills owes you money?” He nods his head. “That bitch,” I mumble under my breath. How the hell did I forget that…again?

  “Mommy,” Belle sings. “You said a bad word.”

  “I’ll just go in and buy it. Then when she gets around to that IOU, you can pay me back.” Remy’s face lights up while I grab my purse and Belle’s hand. As we’re about to walk off, another voice sends a chill down my arm.

  “Megan, yoo-hoo! I thought that looked like you and your crew.”

  I turn, plastering a smile on my face, and I take in the perfect Tiffany King, Windsor Elementary’s PTO president.

  “Oh. You only have two of them with you today. Did you lose the other one?”

  “I wasn’t lost last time. I was hiding,” Annabelle says on my behalf.

  “Oh, sweetie, I don’t blame you.”

  I can’t stop my eyes from rolling. “Is there a reason you’re talking?”

  Tiffany is single handedly the reason mothers everywhere find themselves lacking. She’s the perfect wife, mother and volunteers for everything known to man. She’s also as fake as a set of press-on nails, but for whatever reason, everyone in this God forsaken town acts like she walks on water.

  “Actually, there is. Mr. Long mentioned you missed Parker’s parent-teacher conference.” Her nose crinkles before she adds, “Again.”

  “His dad missed the first one, I only missed…” I trail off, ready to finally resign myself to the title of the shittiest mother alive.

  “Mr. Long has expressed some concerns he was hoping to address with you and Mr. Grayson, if he’s available.”

  We both know that Mr. Grayson is more than likely out screwing anything with a pulse, but instead of commenting on my ex-husband, I pin her with a glare, pretending I don’t hate her guts. “Thanks for the message. I’ll make sure to get in contact with his teacher. Now you can stop worrying about my family and focus on your own.”

  Tiffany glares at me before pivoting on her heels, ready to storm back to the other side of the playground when the little boy who’s still wearing Belle’s underwear knocks into her. With her nose still turned up, her eyes go wide when she realizes what he has on his head.

  “Hey, those are my panties. Give them back,” Belle screams before taking off in pursuit of her underwear, knocking Tiffany on her ass in the process.

  Great…just flipping…great.

  “Mom you just ran a red light.”

  “No I didn’t. The light was yellow. Very, very yellow, but it still counts.” Gripping the steering wheel, I take the next corner like I’m Danica Patrick in a mini-van while Belle squeals with delight from her car seat.

  “You’re already late…again,” Parker sulks from behind me.

  “I might be late, but this time, I didn’t forget.” Smiling, I give myself a virtual pat on the back, marking what used to be one of the highlights of my fall—highlights…shit, I can’t remember the last time I went to the salon—anyway, back to my point…I used to live for parent-teacher conferences. I would show up for Remy’s thirty minutes early with a plate of warm fresh cookies where I’d proceed to sign up for anything the PTO needed help with. Geez, I was a moron. Three years into Parker’s parent-teacher conferences, and I missed not one, but technically two scheduled appointments. I never should’ve trusted his idiot of a father when he said he would attend his first one…then again, my record isn’t the greatest.

  The second the van’s in park, I turn in my seat, glancing between the three of them. “Okay. I’m going to run inside and talk to Mr. Strong—”

  Parker cuts me off. “Long. His name is Mr. Long.”

  “Whatever, that’s beside the point. I’m going to run inside really quick, and the three of you are going to stay here.”

  “Mom!” both boys shout at the same time.

  “I’m going to lock you in, and besides…” My eyes take in the mid-America snobby ass suburb that surrounds the school. If anyone succeeds in stealing my kids, they’d return them by sunset. “This neighborhood is safe. That’s why your dad pays thousands of dollars every month instead of child support, so you can attend the best school.” Raising my eyebrows, I point my finger back and forth between my boys. “Do not let Belle out of her car seat unless it’s a matter of life or death. And whatever you do, keep the van locked.”

  When I open my door several napkins and a Sonic cup falls out, but in true form, I leave the trash on the ground and dart toward the school, pushing my skirt down while ensuring my blouse is completely buttoned.

  Once I’m inside, I run—in heels, which if I’m being honest, I’ve only recently mastered the art of walking in, but shit…I’m late, so running it is. Three months into school and I haven’t even stepped foot into my son’s classroom.

  Racing past the door with the numbers two-ten plastered across the front, I come to an abrupt stop. Turning on my heel, I roll my ankle then sadly…I stumble into my son’s second-grade classroom. And by stumble, I literally crash into the room and on the floor.

  “Oh, God. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah…” I trail off the moment I look up. Bright blue eyes, wavy blond hair, accompanied by a solid six-four wall of muscle. Out of nowhere, a foreign burst of desire sends a throb straight to my core, igniting my body in a way I haven’t felt in a long time—a very long time. How in the hell does a man who oozes sex appeal end up a second-grade teacher?

  I push myself off the floor, brush a hand across my legs, and hope what little bit of dignity I still retain finally makes an appearance. “I’m fine, running late, as usual.”

  “You must be the famous Mrs. Grayson.” He smiles. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  My shoulders tense. Lord only knows what crazy stories he’s heard thanks to the catty mothers who took serious enjoyment in my divorce. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Megan.”

  “I had hoped to talk to you and your husband. Is he coming?” His velvety voice caresses my ears, blocking everything else out. I think it’s time I bite the bullet and purchase the Triple Tickler Rabbit vibrator my friend Teresa keeps recommending.

  “So…” He loudly clears his throat. “Is he coming?”

  Coming? Oh, shit…I didn’t say that out-loud, did I? “Is who coming?”

  “Your husband? Parker’s father?”

  “Whew. Oh, um, no. I’m not married. I’m free as a bird.” My cheeks instantly heat while I fight the urge to slap a hand over my mouth. “What I meant to say is my ex-husband isn’t coming. It’s just you and me.” Seriously, could the floor go ahead and swallow me whole?

  His eyes sparkle with humor as he motions with his head to the table in the back of the room. “Then let’s get started.”

  I nod then follow behind him, watching the way his slacks tug against his ass.

  Stop, stop, stop!

  We both sit down
at opposite sides of the table where he immediately launches into teacher mode. “Normally, during a parent-teacher conference, I go over a student’s grades, show parents a few tests, and I probably would have if you made it to your original appointment, but...”

  I want to crawl under the table and die from embarrassment, but instead, I keep smiling, hoping to appear like I have my life under control.

  “I think we should skip over the normal routine and get right down to business.” A dimple appears on his right cheek, preventing me from concentrating on anything else. “At the beginning of the year, Parker was struggling. He rarely turned in any of his homework, he failed almost every test, and seldom knew the correct answer when I asked him a question. I talked to Mrs. Hall, Parker’s first-grade teacher, and she was shocked. She claims he was one of her brightest students. That prompted me to do a little more investigating. At first, I thought maybe he needed glasses; however, after a couple of one-on-one conversations with your son, I concluded that it’s not that he doesn’t know the answers, I believe the work is too easy for him—therefore, he’s easily distracted and not paying attention.”

  My son doesn’t pay attention…I can’t imagine where he inherited that trait.

  “I’m terribly sorry. I went from being a full-time mother to a full-time mom and a full-time employee, but I assure you, there’ll be a consequence at home. He won’t touch his iPad for a month.”

  He frowns. “Mm, that’s not why I asked to see you.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. I’d like to have Parker tested for the gifted program. The school isn’t allowed to test him without parental consent.”

  “Gifted?”

  I knew from the second the doctor placed him in my arms, he was special, but come on…I’m his mother, it’s my civil duty as a parent to think he’s better than everyone else.