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.

“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s a tedious and time consuming process to determine if a student qualifies for the program. If I’m correct, and his test reflects his true potential, it would most likely be three months or longer before he’ll be able to start gifted classes.”

“Shit. I feel like such an ass. I didn’t purposely miss his parent-teacher conference, but I wasn’t worried when I discovered I had.”

The corners of his mouth twitch while he tries and fails to fight back a smile. “Between us, it’s nice to finally meet a parent who isn’t trying to appear picture perfect.”

“Oh, believe me, I jumped aboard that crazy train for several years, but if being a single mother of three has taught me anything, it’s I’m all out of fucks to give.”

His head tilts back at the same time a deep laugh rumbles from his chest. “You are definitely one of a kind.”

Unsure if that’s a complement or not, I sit up, ready to get down to business. “What do I need to sign?”

Noticing my change, his laughter dies. “Take this home, read it over and return it by Monday to the front office if you can.”

“Thanks.” I take the papers from his hand and stand up, ready to get the hell out of here. “Well, if there wasn’t anything else, then I need to get going.”

He jumps to his feet. “Actually, there was one other thing.” His eyebrows draw together while a fit of emotions dance across his face. “By any chance, are you free a week from Saturday?”

My mouth drops open. Holy crap…he’s asking me out. Even dressed in a skirt and heels, I look like death warmed over. I didn’t bother to fix my hair this morning; instead, I pulled my long black locks up into a messy bun and called it good. Add in the fact that I can’t remember if I applied any makeup is a good sign I didn’t bother. “Mr. Dong, Thong—damn…”

“Long. It’s Mr. Long.”

“I bet it is.” Closing my eyes, I hang my head in defeat.

“About next Saturday—”

When you think life couldn’t possibly get any worst, it does. “Mom, Belle just barfed all over the van.” Both of our heads dart to the door.

“Hello, Parker. How are you this evening?”

“Hey Mr. Long. I’m…good?”

“I’ll make sure to get these”—I shake the papers in my hand—“to the office.” Tucking my tail between my legs, I grab Parker’s arm and dart for the door. We make it down the hallway heading in the direction of the main doors when he yanks his arm away from me.

“You’re going the wrong way. Remy brought Belle inside to clean her up.”

“She was fine twenty minutes ago. I thought you made that story up so you’d have an excuse to come inside.”

“Well…” He trails off avoiding my eyes.

“What happened?”

“She kind of…maybe…drank a sippy cup of milk?”

I shrug. “So? Why would that…” My nose scrunches as I realize Belle didn’t have a sippy cup of milk—at least not one from today.

“Parrrrrkerrrrr.”

“She was throwing a fit and screaming she needed a drink. Remy found one of her cups under his seat so he gave it to her.”

I tuck the papers Mr. Hottie gave me into my purse and follow Parker down another hall where he stops and points to the boy’s restroom. Walking through the door, I expect to find a sick little girl, but instead, I find a scene right from Mr. Mom. Belle is naked from head to toe, running through the bathroom, streaming toilet paper in her wake while Remy stands over a sink, running water on Belle’s dress.

“What in the hell?”

Remy stops, his eyes wide with panic while Belle continues to act like a monkey who’s escaped the zoo. “Okay, just stop. Both of you.” I pull her soaking wet dress out of the sink. “Well, she can’t wear that out to the Van. Where’s her panties?”

Remy shrugs then looks around. “I don’t remember her having any on.”

“Again? Seriously, Belle, you can’t take your underwear off in public.”

“I know you are but what am I?” she replies, dancing through the room, still unraveling toilet paper. “That doesn’t even make—no, never mind. Come on, let’s make a run for it. If we’re lucky, no one will notice the naked four-year-old.”

“But, Mom, we have to clean this mess up.”

Parker doesn’t give a damn what his room looks like, but naturally, this would be the time he would grow a conscience. “Argh, fine. Whatever.” Belle makes a run for the door. “Oh, not so fast little lady. You made this mess. If I have to clean it, then your little naked butt is helping.”

She pushes her bottom lip out with a pout. “But, Mama, you said not to touch the uckies on the ground.”

“I also told you to keep your panties on. Apparently, you don’t listen, so get to it.” I point to the paper she strung all over the bathroom.

Five minutes later, the bathroom looks reasonable, minus the fact that Belle stopped helping and started taking everything out of my purse where she found my stash of suckers. She has two in her mouth, and several in each hand.

That’s it…I’m forgoing dinner for a bottle of wine.

Squatting down, I start to stuff receipts, a hair brush, my phone, a pile of crayons, and the papers from Parker’s teacher back into my purse when the bathroom door opens.

“Hey, Mr. Long.”

Leaving my pride on the floor, knowing at this point, there’s not a chance in hell that I don’t look like a hot mess, I turn toward Mr. Hottie, faking a smile. “We were just leaving.” I sweep up my nude four-year-old and tuck her on my hip. “I hope you have a nice evening.”

Stepping around him, I open the door, ready to get the heck out of here when his smooth voice greets my ears. “I think you forgot something.”

Instinctively, I glance at both boys, assuming I left one behind when he extends his hand, holding out a tampon. “Who knows what the boys would do tomorrow if they found that.” That sexy-as-hell dimple pops out while he smiles, and for a moment, I want to take him up on his offer to go out, but shit…I can’t. He’s my son’s teacher... “Thanks.”

“Let me know about next Saturday.” He winks. “Parker said you were free.”

“Wait…what? You talked to Parker about asking me out on a date?”

His eyes go round. “Er… Um, actually…”

“Mom, you can help with the school carnival. You never have any plans.”

Rock. Bottom.

One doesn’t know what that feels like until they hit it. “Actually, I plan to spend the entire evening with my new Triple Tickler Rabbit. I heard it always ensures a good time. Make sure to tell the other mothers that when they ask why I’m not there.”

“I want a rabbit,” Belle says at the same time Mr. Long busts out laughing.

And these are the days of my life…thank God I love my kids.