The door creaks closed, but I don’t trust him to not come back so I stay still, keeping my breathing even. He always forgets something. I don’t hear shoes on the stairs, so I don’t remove the tiny feet from my side or take my blanket back from the little stowaway. Sure enough, the bedroom door opens again and my husband slides back in. His work shoes shuffle across the floor, there’s a weight on the bed, and he kisses my forehead. I can’t resist then. I roll over and peek an eye open.

“Had to kiss you goodbye.” He rubs his scruff into my hair.

“You wake this kid up and I’ll kick your ass, birthday or not,” I hiss at him. Rick smiles and kisses me again.

“For my birthday, I wanna fuck you in my new La-Z-Boy,” he growls in my ear, making me bite my lip. “See ya tonight.” I blink back up at him and nod. In the blue light from Cam’s nightlight, I study the hungry look in his brown eyes and have to kiss him again.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper against his mouth at the same time Cam shifts, digging his tiny heels further into my side and making me grunt. I shoo Rick out and wait to hear him go all the way down the stairs. The car starts and my husband is gone. I have a million things to do and a three-year-old to corral while I do it.

For once, I need to be super mom and my morning routine has to go according to plan. Otherwise, the La-Z-Boy Rick so desperately wants to fuck on won’t be here, then we have to have another quickie in the laundry room. Mommy is a little over quickies in the laundry room.

I slide away from Cam and check the clock; I have an hour to get all the kids up and out the door to school, then be here for the furniture delivery and manage to go get the cake and decorate before I need to get back in line to pick them up from school. This all sounds easy, but doing anything with a three-year-old in tow is like trying to baptize and then herd cats. It’s impossible. Not to mention the fact that people are coming over and the house looks like we have five kids.

When you have the world’s most amazing husband and father, you go to great lengths for his birthday, and for once, I need to throw a party that doesn’t end poorly.

With my time crunch, I hop out of bed and instantly realize how Cam got in my bed this time. I step on the overturned laundry basket, flipping it back over and falling forward. Thankfully, the dog breaks my fall, but my cheek still meets the partially opened bottom drawer on my dresser. Lucy yelps, the wind is knocked out of me, and I roll off the dog to cover my eye and cheek. Lucy scrambles to the corner near the door. I groan and wait for Cam to wake up, but nothing happens. Once the room stops spinning, I manage to get up and make it to the bathroom. After a bathroom break, I inspect the damage to my face. No blood, but from my nose to the corner of my eye is already purple and swollen. Awesome. My husband is turning forty, we have a party to host, and I have a shiner.

I throw on my best yoga pants from the dryer and am searching for a shirt in the darkness, trying to be as quiet as possible. Waking Cam up last is the easiest way to accomplish anything in the mornings. Unfortunately, it rarely works that way. Today it seems like luck is on my side as I walk very quietly toward the door, shoes in hand, and reach for the knob. Cam shifts and I freeze. He’s so beautiful with his dark waves and fat baby cheeks. He’s the spitting image of his dad, just like the rest of my gorgeous kids. My husband’s genes overpowered mine in a big way all five times.

Once I know Cam is staying asleep, I focus on leaving the room as quietly as possible. Lucy needs to be walked, but even she understands the need for quiet with Cam snoozing away. Lucas does not understand that need. My true middle child comes bursting through the door, managing to let Lucy go scrambling down the stairs and hitting me in the shoulder.

“Tell Alex she can’t have my Batman hoodie!” Lucas clutches the clothing to his chest like he might die if his sister takes it. Have kids close together, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Cam whimpers behind me and the morning has officially begun.

Alex comes bursting in, shoving Lucas out of the way. “Let me borrow it! Please?” Alex grabs for the jacket, but Lucas spins and runs down the stairs, laughing maniacally. I huff and pick up the whining, tired little one from my bed. My only daughter is more boyish than all four boys combined.

“I’ll give it back.” She rolls her eyes at me.

“I don’t doubt it, Alex, but it’s his. Don’t bully your brother into submission,” I deadpan, knowing exactly what lengths she’ll go to in order to wear the hoodie. The girl is persistent. Cam clings to my shoulders, Alex trudges down the stairs, and Jordan stumbles out of the room across the hall. He throws a hand up, grumbles something unintelligible and slams the bathroom door. Teenagers are awesome.

About a year ago, I came up with this amazing morning regimen. When you have a million kids, you need a routine. I planned it out, wrote it down, and went over it with all the kids. There was one flaw in the plan: me. I am not super mom, I do not get up at the crack of dawn to cook breakfast, and if I did, I would probably burn it. Today, I need a little of the super mom vibe to pull off a party on a weekday.

Downstairs is total chaos and the oldest and youngest haven’t even joined in the fun. Alex and Lucas are yelling across the table, and Trent is trying to referee. “Finally!” Lucas gestures at me. “Tell her no!”

“No.” I pop Cam into his chair and go off to make him some cereal. “Today is Daddy’s birthday.”

“Lordy, lordy, Dad is forty!” Alex gives up the fight for the hoodie and sings around the bite of toast in her mouth. At least they didn’t blow the toaster up this time.

“I made him a card.” Trent proudly waves a folded piece of construction paper. “Who punched your eye?” With the way he’s seen Alex and Lucas fight, of course he thinks my shiner is from a punch. “Was it Daddy because you wanted wear his jacket?”

“Great card, T. No, Daddy would never punch me, even over a Batman hoodie.” I glare at Alex and Lucas. “Now, I need you guys to school on time so I can get back home to meet the furniture delivery guy.” I hand Cam his cereal only for him to take the spoon out, lick it, and start picking out the berries with his fingers. “Right after school we only have two hours for the house to be clean and the patio ready for the grill. Alex and Jordan can take care of the patio; Lucas and Trent can take all the toys upstairs. Cam can help inside. Got it?” Much grumbling ensues.

Breakfast goes on with me signing folders and rounding up shoes. At seven thirty-five we all run out the door, Cam on my back talking non-stop about some new monster truck on TV, and Trent wearing one red shoe and one blue one. We’re only five minutes late today. At least he remembered shoes. The schools are only two blocks away, so we usually walk. It’s fall, but not cold yet and it means I get a little exercise. Two blocks with a thirty-four-pound kid is really like walking a mile. I kiss all of them, except Jordan, who gets a fist bump before they scatter between the elementary and middle schools.

“Are they all yours?” A voice behind me makes me jump and my phone beeps at the same time. I shift Cam to get my phone from my waistband and turn to face the mom at the same time.

“All but the middle one. I saw him in a buggy at Walmart and thought he was cute.” I smile at the woman, finally looking her over. Tight leggings, bright running shoes, snug tank top, and a perfectly positioned pony tail. Her shiny black SUV is on the curb behind her. Typical of the area we live in.

“You’re funny.” She giggles, but I don’t. We can’t go out to dinner, to the store, or even to the park without at least one person asking that same question. It gets old really fast. “I bet you stay so busy; you certainly have your hands full.” Two more statements I hear on a regular basis. All she needs to do now is ask if we’re done, or ask if we know what causes it. “I can barely keep up with Aiden.” Blonde super mom keeps talking about her son and his extracurriculars while I check my phone.

The Husband: You looked so hot laying there this morning. If Cam hadn’t been there, I’d have woken you up with my hands between those thighs, and I know the Lazy Boy is asking too much. See ya tonight.

My face heats up and I swallow, really happy the monkey on my back can’t read yet. Aiden’s mom is looking at me like I missed something important. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Are you planning on anymore?” She smiles innocently, having no idea how damn annoyed I get with that question.

“Maybe. It was nice talking to you, but I need to get this guy home.” I point to the kid on my back and start down the sidewalk. I try not to get irritated when people ask me a million questions like that, but these days, no one has a whole litter of kids. We’re like a walking freak show.

At home, I look around the disaster of a house and try to decide where to start. There are shoes all over the living room, including the two-unmatched pair mirroring the ones on Trent’s feet. Cam is on second breakfast, attempting to fork eggs into his mouth and refusing to use a spoon. I kick into overdrive. In fifteen minutes, I have the shoes in the closet, have swept the mud room, living room, and the steps.

“Mommy!” Cam’s voice jerks me out of my mini-celebration to check on his waffles. I round the corner and the broom leaves my hand. My little angel is not in his seat eating waffles. Instead, he’s sitting on the counter, kitchen scissors in hand and surrounded by dark ringlets in a puddle of syrup. Oh. My. God. I can see the headline now “Mom ignores child. Child cuts off ear with kitchen scissors.”

“Cam!” My shriek is covered by the doorbell. “Hang on!” I shout and run for my scissor-wielding child. In one movement, I have the scissors tossed on the opposite counter and Cam popped on my hip. It doesn’t take long for me to realize how sticky he is. I’m talking if I threw him, he’d stick to the wall. The doorbell rings again.

“I get it!” Cam starts wiggling, shoving away from me to go answer the door.

“No way, kiddo!” I dash for the door, sticky Cam in tow and jerk the door open to find a portly man holding a clipboard and a furniture truck behind him. Score one for super mom. The only thing my husband requested for the last six holidays has been a La-Z-Boy. Anniversary, Christmas, and birthday. A list of wife-induced disasters have set us back on that purchase, but I finally pulled through. Working from home three days a week scored me enough cash to pull it off. No new tires from running over the curb, no hospital bill from stepping on a rake, and no new dishwasher after Trent put the wrong soap in. I knock on some wood before mentally running through the rest of the set-backs. New stove after I started a grease fire, another medical bill when I decided to eat pavement while teaching Alex to skateboard, and the new couch from the day I brought Lucy home. Out of six, four of the La-Z-Boy preventing disasters were me. This time, I won’t let anything stand in the way of my husband and his navy-blue recliner.

Cam is talking incessantly in my ear while I try not to focus on the fact that his hair is chopped in a million places and both of us are covered in syrup. There goes part of my day. Instead of extra clean up time, we get to hit up the closest salon so someone can fix the disaster on my child’s head, or at least try to do it myself. The man has me sign and waddles off to unload the world’s best present. I yell for him to just put the recliner in the living room and strip Cam all the way to the sink, only glancing back to see the delivery man rolling a cream-colored recliner toward me.

“Whoa!” I wave my free hand, holding Cam in the sink. “That is not what I ordered.”

The chair drops with a thud just inside my door. “Says here ya did.” He waves the clipboard I signed. “La-Z-Boy, Sandy Beach, and your signature, Ma’am.” No. No. No! Cam squirms from the sink and his soaked body collides with mine.

“It was supposed to be Sea Breeze Blue.” I try to stay calm and not hand the delivery man his head on a plastic Sponge Bob platter.

“You want me to take it back?” He smirks.

“No! Just leave it.” I glance down at my sticky, wet, and botched kiddo. “This is not my day, Cam.”

Big brown eyes look back up at me. “I need to pee.” From the mouths of babes. I let Cam down to streak through the house and up the stairs, past the delivery man.

The guy has the nerve to cock an eyebrow at me when my naked kid passes him. “Hey, don’t judge me, buddy, you brought the wrong damn chair!” Without a word, he wheels the dolly back out and slams the door behind him. I try to be positive, remembering that Rick didn’t actually tell me what color chair he wanted, but the quiet from upstairs has me dashing for my mischievous little hellion. If Cam had been the first kid, I’d have tied my tubes thirteen years ago.

Fortunately, Cam is happily playing with bubbles in the sink after a successful potty trip, so I sneak back down, stepping over Lucy to finish the big clean up. My first task is the sticky kitchen and the hair Cam cut. I can worry about evening up his hack job later. Now, I have a house to clean and meat to thaw for a very important party. A pass by the mirror in the mudroom reminds me to attempt to cover my blackeye at some point as well. Pictures will be taken, and I look like I lost a boxing match. With only four more hours of school, I have my work cut out for me. The black eye gets put on the to-do list with the kid shave down.

* * *

“Whoa!” Jordan freezes as soon as he opens the front door. “It’s so clean.” The other kids shove around him and Trent takes a deep breath.

“It smells good.” They all look at me confused. So sue me, I’m never going to be on the cover of Good Housekeeping, nor will I be mistaken for Martha Stewart.

“I am capable of cleaning.” I give my children the mom glare and head toward the patio.

“What happened to Cam’s hair?” Alex rubs a hand over the prickles of Cam’s hair.

“An accident, now, you guys pick up the yard and I’ll get a snack ready. Dad gets home in two hours.” The chorus of groans follow me up the steps to put Cam down for a late nap. The poor kid fought me thorough the haircut, but with lots of bribery, three suckers, and a bowl of ice cream later the kid had a shaved head. When I say shaved, I mean Army ready. With little fight, Cam collapses onto my pillow, in my bed, again, and passes out.

Downstairs on the patio, things are less productive. Alex has Lucas in a weird arm hold, making him sing the My Little Pony song while Jordan records and Trent laughs. I’m tempted to join in the laughter, but what kind of mother would I be if I did?

“Let him go, Alex! How did we get from clean the yard, to … whatever that was?” I demand, biting back a laugh at my eleven-year-old singing a song from my childhood. Alex releases the hold on her older brother, and Jordan shoves his phone away. So much for being the mature one. Before she can answer, the doorbell rings. I don’t have to check the peep hole to know who it is.

“Gram’s here.” Jordan starts playing the video of his younger brother singing while laughing at me. “She’s going to flip over Cam’s hair. Or Cam’s no hair.” It’s no secret that Grams and I are not besties by any means. Plus, she’s insanely early. Don’t get married to someone with a mom, just don’t. It’s not worth the mother-in-law agony. I steady myself and head for the door, trying to hold on to my little Alex making her big brother sing My Little Pony instead of my monster-in-law at the door. The doorbell rings three more times before I even make it into the house.

Two hours later, the whole crowd has moved their cars to the school, the yard is decorated and my brother, Sean, has Jordan manning the grill. Not only am I hostess of the year, but best gift giver and wife of the century for pulling it off. Maybe the chair isn’t the right color, but I am about to pull off a surprise party and I’ve only had to break up three more kid brawls since the pony song. On top of that, only every single guest has asked how I blacked my eye. None of them seem willing to believe Cam inadvertently caused the accident. Everyone has commented oh-so-politely on Cam’s shaved head, but I can’t tell the truth so I blame it on gum in the hair. Each person has their own gum removal recipe that I was obviously too stupid to try, but anything is better than admitting I wasn’t in the room while my kid played with scissors. It’s a good day.

I hear Rick’s car door and snatch up Cam as he’s about to sink his teeth into Trent for not sharing the Nintendo DS, and dash for the door, telling everyone to wait in the yard on the way. Rick will expect a quiet dinner in his new chair, not all of our family and friends in the yard.

I pop Cam down with a coloring book and take a seat in the chair, waiting for him to come in. “Amelia?” my husband’s voice echoes through the mud room.

“In here!” I shout, heart thundering in anticipation of the absolute best birthday gift ever. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.

Rick rounds the corner and at first he looks confused, then he gets that smile. “Is that for me?” I nod. “I’m not talking about the chair.” He starts by taking off his polo and tossing it. I’m suddenly at an impasse. I can ruin the surprise by tipping him off, or I can risk his little strip tease going a bit longer. Option two is too embarrassing, so I hop up and rush toward him. Before I can even speak, he has me slammed back in the recliner, body pressed against mine while I fight to make him stop kissing long enough to talk. No such luck.

“The kids,” is all I manage in the time he leaves my lips to take off his shirt.

“They seem quiet.” Rick kisses down my neck and straddles me, grinding all he’s working with into my stomach. This is why we have five kids. When I try to argue, he covers my mouth with a big, rough hand. “No talking. It’s my birthday.” This is not going to end well, and as much as I enjoy a few seconds of horny, teenager make out on the new recliner, we have twenty guests outside. “I was thinking today, now that Cam is getting older, maybe we should round it off to an even six. Or at least practice,” Rick growls seductively in my ear, almost masking the sound of the door opening. My eyes nearly bulge out of my head, and I swat his face at the same time twenty people plus our five kids scream from next to us.

“Happy Birthday!”

Rick is half naked, hand over my mouth, straddling me in the new recliner. The worst part of the whole thing is that my idiot husband just threatened to get me pregnant yet again. “Maybe number six can wait?” In one motion, Rick jumps off me to face the crowd and jerks his shirt back over his head. His mother is at the front of the crowd looking as mortified as I feel with her hand over Trent’s eyes. I could kill my husband, birthday or not.

“Surprised?” I mutter from my spot on the recliner.

“Very.” Rick finally looks at me when my brother lets out a wolf whistle and Jordan starts making gagging sounds. “Did you know you have a black eye?” Cam picks that moment to come running from the middle of the crowd.

“Daddy! It’s you birthday!” He leaps at Rick who catches him midair.

“Hey, buddy! Did you get a haircut?” His eyes dart to me, and he gets the mom glare. He’s not getting kid number six, or any practice in with questions like that after the day I had. “It looks great! How did you pull this off?”

“Your chair is the wrong color, the dog hasn’t been out all day, Cam cut his hair, and my eye is black.” I shrug. “I’m super mom.” I’m rewarded with a kiss on my forehead and Cam licks my cheek.

Rick wipes the slobber from my face. “Let’s go party.”

So, that’s exactly what we do.