We are so EXCITED, yes shouty caps excited… for this EXCLUSIVE Mother’s Day scene from Devney Perry’s The Birthday List

EXCLUSIVE Mother’s Day Scene

Poppy
The thud of little feet woke me from a dreamless sleep. I shot up in bed, my eyes slow to open as a tiny black form came hurtling my way.
MacKenna collided with the edge of the bed without a word, her arms raised as she waited for me to lift her up.
“Okay, baby. You can lie here for ten minutes, then it’s back to your own bed.”
Ten minutes. I’d get up in ten minutes. Probably.
MacKenna didn’t respond because she was already asleep. The second she collapsed on my chest, she was out.
I grunted as I rolled her over to Cole’s side of the bed.
Ten minutes? That wasn’t happening. I was too tired to think about tossing the covers aside and carrying my three-year-old daughter down the hallway. That was Cole’s job, but he was gone tonight.
He’d gotten called into the station late because of a development with one of his cases. The last text I’d received from him had been at eleven o’clock, long after the kids were bathed and in bed. He’d told me not to wait up, that he’d be home in the morning.
It was rare for him to be gone like this, but as a detective for the Bozeman Police Department, there were times when it was unavoidable. He couldn’t tell me about his case, but I imagined he was in a gray interrogation room, his jaw covered in stubble and the sleeves of his shirt pushed up his forearms as he sipped coffee, waiting for his subject to confess.
I always pictured him as the good cop in these imaginary scenarios. The good cop who’d come home later and play bad cop with me and a pair of silver handcuffs.
That certainly wasn’t happening tonight. Instead, I’d had four hours of restless sleep, constantly pushing MacKenna’s feet out of my ribs and her head off my pillow.
When I’d finally had enough, I got out of bed with a huff and scooped her up.
“Noooo,” she moaned. Her protest lasted only a second before she passed out again, her arms and legs hanging limp as I hefted her to her own room.
I managed to get some sleep after that. Some, meaning an hour. Then a new pair of feet came running.
“Mama,” Brady whispered. His finger poked into my closed eye. “Is wake time.”
“No,” I whispered back. “It’s still nighttime.”
“Is wake time. Time to get up.”
“Ugh. Fine.” While Cole dealt with MacKenna’s midnight visits, I was the one who got up early with our son because we were both morning people.
So much for sleeping in on Mother’s Day.
We got up for the day. Brady ate cereal while I sipped coffee, then we cuddled on the couch until MacKenna joined us, her brown hair sticking out in all directions.
Both kids piled next to me to watch morning cartoons, and I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Thirty blissful seconds, that’s all I got before the squirming started. Then a foot flew— right at my coffee mug.
It sloshed in my grip, soaking my pajama pants clear through in the crotch and down to my panties.
“No,” I groaned, pushing up from the couch. The kids quickly took my empty space, their eyes stuck to the TV. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
I made my way upstairs to my bedroom, hurrying because MacKenna would be hungry before too long. Not wanting to smell like coffee all day, I took a quick shower.
I tied up my hair, then put on some yoga pants. I was just tugging on a hoodie when a scream came from downstairs.
For the next three hours, I played the role of Share Sheriff, negotiating toy swaps. Whatever toy MacKenna had, Brady wanted. Whatever toy Brady had, our dog Nazboo wanted.
In a rare moment where everyone was satisfied with their current article of entertainment, I glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven. I’d gone twelve hours without hearing from Cole, which wasn’t normal, so I shot him a text.

Me: Everything okay?

It took him an hour to respond.

Cole: Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t think it would take this long. Should be home shortly after lunch.

After lunch. My heart sank.
I didn’t need much on Mother’s Day. I told Cole that every year. All I wanted was a relaxing Sunday at home, and for him to be the zookeeper.
I didn’t let my disappointment linger. I made the kids lunch and counted down the minutes until nap time. I was just cleaning up a few toys in the living room when I heard a strange noise from the kitchen.
“Stay here,” I told MacKenna and Brady.
“Okay, Mommy.” MacKenna pushed up off the floor and followed me. Brady was right on her heels.
“No.” I turned, putting my hands on MacKenna’s shoulders to spin her around. “Can you stay here with Brady?”
“Sure.” She smiled at me, her green eyes sparkling. This time, she took Brady’s hand and pulled him back to the puzzles they’d been doing.
I smiled at them, then hustled to the kitchen. I got there just in time to see Nazboo puke up the turkey neck I’d fed her for lunch.
“Nooooo.” I gagged, my hand clamping over my nose. “Oh my God, that stinks.”
I skirted the vomit, grabbed Nazboo’s collar with my free hand and led her out the side door.
My irritation with my husband’s absence spiked. I wanted to leave the puke and the mess of toys for him to deal with, but vomit was not allowed in my kitchen.
With Nazboo outside, I dug under the kitchen sink for some rubber gloves. I poured a healthy slog of bleach into a blue bucket and got to work.
When I’d finished—and after I’d washed my hands a dozen times—I smiled, grateful the kids had stayed away. They hadn’t even fought.
My stomach dropped. Quiet kids meant trouble.
I raced to the living room. MacKenna was sitting on the floor in the same place I’d left her, eyes glued to the television. “Where’s Brady?”
She ignored me.
“Brady.” I spun around to the entryway to make sure the front door was still locked and closed. It was. He couldn’t have gotten into the garage without passing me in the kitchen.
“Brady?” I called again.
No response.
“Brady!” My voice shook.
“I potty, Mama.” His little voice carried from the guest bathroom off the living room.
“Uh . . .” Brady was one and certainly not potty-trained.
He came out of the bathroom, his pants bunched down at his ankles. His diaper was still firmly in place.
“What are you . . .” I trailed off as I saw his wet footprints. I took one more step toward the bathroom and saw the water.
While I’d been wrist-deep in doggy puke, Brady had carefully torn sheet after sheet from the fresh roll of toilet paper and proceeded to place them in the toilet bowl.
What an angel.
An hour later, I’d loaded the kids into my SUV and was driving to the hardware store to buy a drain snake. No amount of plunging was going to shove that clog through the pipes. In fact, I was certain I’d made it worse.
My yoga pants were covered in toilet water and shreds of wet tissue paper. I’d left at least fifteen towels on the bathroom floor to soak up the water. It was Mother’s Day and I was supposed to be feeling pampered by my kids and husband. Instead, I was going to unclog a toilet.
Which is exactly what I did. I snaked that toilet like a damn professional. I put the kids down for a nap. I cleaned. I tossed the wet towels into the laundry.
I mothered the hell out of Mother’s Day.
Cole’s after lunch turned into a string of apology texts through the afternoon, into dinner and past the kids’ bedtime routine.
I was in bed, reading, when the garage door opened. It was after nine. He came inside, said a few muffled words to Nazboo, then ventured upstairs. When he appeared in the door to our bedroom, he had a vase filled with two dozen red roses in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.
“Hi.” He came to the bed, setting the flowers on my nightstand beside the chocolate. Then he dropped a kiss to my lips and his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I whispered back. “Is everything okay?”
“It is now.” He slipped his arms around my back and held me tight. “Did you have a good Mother’s Day?”
“It was . . .” I paused before I unloaded it all on him. From the toilet paper fiasco to the dog puke to the sleepless night and the constant strings of Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! “Actually, it was a good day.”
Because this was a Mother’s Day I’d remember.
Before too long, MacKenna wouldn’t sneak into our bed at night. She wouldn’t want me to play with her. Brady would be out of diapers and fixing his own meals before running off to hang out with friends.
My children were exhausting at times. There was always a ripple of worry for them running through my veins. And, my God, I wanted to sleep. I hadn’t slept in years.
But they were the light of my life. Them and their father.
“I’m so tired.” Cole sighed, giving me more of his weight. “Happy Mother’s Day. Next Sunday, I’ll make it up to you. You can have a redo.”
I loved my children.
But I wasn’t going to argue with that.
“Deal. I don’t want to cook. Or clean. Or ever touch a snake again.”
Cole leaned back. “Huh?”
“Never mind.” I pressed a kiss to his lips, letting him deepen it until he’d managed to slip my top off.
“Mommy.” MacKenna’s cry drove us apart.
He groaned. I nearly cried. “What are the chances she’ll fall back asleep?”
“Moooommmmy!”

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