Tyler’s home and I’m a terrible role model #cherrypiecure

posted by susan-oh-susan / march 10 at 9:23 am / uncategorized / 15 comments

Tyler came home last night! Thursday night instead of Saturday morning! Yes!

I tripped over his shoes on my way home from the store.

Not Safeway.

I know it’s stupid. But I was so embarrassed. I mean… because I needed to buy batteries. For the… you know.

(Ok, I know I was just talking about it in the last post, but now my son is home, and I’m in mother mode, and I can’t say vibrator.)

(Oh, I just did. But it felt very awkward.)

I drove to the Box Mall to the office supply store there. It seemed more legit.

(Ok, again, I know it’s stupid. But there you go. That’s me, that’s Susan.)

Anyway. Home. Turn key in lock, open door—two giant canoes and a suitcase in the hallway. And then, a giant man-child towering over me, big, big bear hug. A kiss on the top of my head.

Oh-god.

Children.

Motherhood.

Just—thank you, God. Thank you for my children.

Then he pulled away and looked at me very carefully.

“You look good,” he said. Surprised. I guess he was expecting me to look like the puffy, lumpy mess I actually was yesterday.

Then he sniffed at me carefully.

“Are you smoking?” he demanded.

“No,” I lied.

“Just a little,” I lied again.

“But mostly outside now,” I confessed.

“Do you want to smoke some weed?” he asked.

I nodded.

And so we put on our coats and toques—it is March on the prairies and it is still cold!—and sat on the front porch and shared a joint.

In front of the entire neighbourhood.

I have never, ever smoked pot in my life, by the way.

First time. Yesterday. On my front porch, in front of the entire neighbourhood. With my youngest son.

To be fair, because we live in one of these dead suburbs in which everyone has a double-attached garage and goes in and out of their car from inside the house and never actually really walks anywhere, no one from the neighbourhood saw us.

Also, March. Not freezing “I want to die because it’s minus-one-hundred degrees outside” March… but not balmy, either.

Not a lot of walk-by traffic.

So I guess I didn’t really smoke my first joint in front of my entire neighbourhood.

(But I kind of liked writing and thinking that, which is kind of weird? Isn’t it?)

When we went back into the house—after Tyler said he was hungry—I felt… dizzy. And nauseated. But also… good.

And I was thinking about my batteries. The vibrator. Cherry pie.

Reza.

“Jesus, Mom. Sublimate much?” Tyler said as he saw the kitchen.

I looked around, at the counters piled with… well, everything.

He went straight for the cherry pie.

“That’s for Nika,” I said. “You can have anything else. Just… try to leave something for your brother.”

He ate about a quarter of the baking right then and there.

And then I think he got up in the night to eat again.

I think I need to go to Safeway for more baking supplies.

*

15 comments on Tyler’s home and I’m a terrible role model:

ilikeherbooty-full: For more baking supplies, sure.

mommyshidinginthebathroom3: Most of your neighbours probably smoke pot. Secretly.

susan-oh-susan: I don’t think so. It’s a very nice neighbourhood.

mommyshidinginthebathroom3: ROFL. I love you, Susan. You’re so… 1980s. No, like, 1950s.

sugar&spice76: I’d just like to say that I don’t approve of either the cigarette smoking or the pot smoking, honey. Your body’s a temple and all that. But I understand. And it was sort of a tender moment, wasn’t it. You and your son. On the porch.

susan-oh-susan: It was.

BeautifulThingsEveryday: Can I go to Safeway with you?

susan-oh-susan: No!

FemmeFataleFun: We expect a full vibrator report, by the way. And you need to actually deliver it—like you did that cherry pie—instead of doing whatever it is you did with a description of the boy. Outsourcing it to Marcella. Who totally fucked it up. Lips, mouth, nose?

BeautifulThingsEveryday: Oh, those lips. And don’t forget the neck.

FemmeFataleFun: I can actually almost see the neck.

mommyshidinginthebathroom3: I can taste the neck.

ilikeherbooty-full: Is this what women really talk about when men aren’t around, or are you doing that just for me?

BeautifulThingsEveryday: For the last time, why are you even here?

ilikeherbooty-full: Now? For more cherry pie.

Find out more: Cherry Pie Cure: Cast of Characters and More

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mjanecolette
TellMe@mjanecolette.com

PS A Table of Contents of the Cherry Pie Cure/Susan’s Writing Cure Blog posts can be found at the Cherry Pie Cure landing page.

Feature image source: https://www.pexels.com/photo/close-up-photo-of-kush-on-glass-container-1466335/

About mjanecolette

Writer. Reader. Angster. Reformed Bohemian (not). Author of the erotic romance TELL ME, the erotic tragedy (with a happy ending) CONSEQUENCES (of defensive adultery), the award-winning rom-com (she's versatile) CHERRY PIE CURE, and the just released TEXT ME, CUPID--a (slightly dirty) love story for 21st century adults who don't believe in love... but want it anyway. A sought-after speaker and presenter, Colette is also the author of the Dirty Writing Secrets Series, which includes the non-fiction collection of essays ROUGH DRAFT CONFESSIONS: not a guide to writing and selling erotica and romance but full of inside inside anyway, 101 FLIRTY WRITING PROMPTS TO SEDUCE YOUR MUSE, and ORGANIZED CREATIVE. She's also the curator of the fab YYC Queer Writers anthologies Queer Christmas in Cowtown, Screw Chocolate, and A Queer Summer Night's in Cowtown.

One comment

  1. Pingback: Cherry Pie Cure–the real time Blog Edition | m jane colette

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