Page 1 of The Santa Rules
CHAPTER 1
BELLA
“Jesus, Mom, your tits are out!” Isaac screams in disgust.
I look down, and sure as fuck, he’s right. My right breast has made its escape out of the side of my tank top, while Lefty has jumped ship out of the top.
“It’s not like these babies didn’t provide you nourishment for the first two years of your life,” I grumble. Why I feel the need to fight with my thirteen-year-old at this early hour is beyond me. Groaning, I sit up in bed and pull my tank top up to cover the girls.
“Please don’t refer to your tits as babies,” he whines.
I should have more fucks to give, but parenting a thirteen-year-old boy alone has left me fresh out of fucks. And snacks. And hot water. And lotion. And my sanity.
I’m probably going to scar him for life between the tit flashing and the inappropriate jabs I level at him. But I’m doing the best I can. The lemonade may not be as sweet as I’d like, but dammit, I’ve squeezed the hell out of the lemons life’s thrown at me.
“It’s too fucking early in the morning for you to be coming at me like you have a full set of pubes.”
He leaves the room in a huff, and I fall back on the bed,hoping to get a few more winks in before we need to leave for school. But a few minutes later, he throws open my door, startling me as he marches back in, looks me square in the eyes, and says, “Twelve.”
I blink at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
This kid crosses his arms over his chest in defiance and glances down at his crotch.
“Oh my God, you didn’t,” I squeak out between fits of laughter.
“I have twelve hairs down there.”
“Did you actually count?”
He levels a glare at me, trying to be menacing, but it’s impossible. There’s no way to look tough when you just counted your pubic hairs in an attempt to win an argument with your mom. I collapse into a fit of laughter.
“Whatever. I’m going to go make some breakfast.”
“Let me know if you need a scrunchie to hold all that hair! Don’t want to get any in your Frosted Flakes!” I call after him.
“Shut up!”
“I love you too!”
Once Isaac is ready, we head out the door and walk over to Chestnut Mountain K-12 School. Isaac heads to his homeroom, and I stop by the office to check my mailbox and then make my way to my kindergarten classroom.
I shut the door behind me and inhale a deep breath as I try to prepare for what is sure to be an exhausting day. It’s Friday, there’s a full moon, and it’s one of the few days of the year when the kids are allowed to dress up and eat candy. There’s not a teacher I know that likes Halloween. Sure, they may like it at home, but not in their classroom. Kids are hopped up on sugar, no one can sit still, and forget about teaching anything because no one can focus with all the Spider-Men, Stormtroopers, princesses, witches, and other various ghouls and goblins running around. Me included.
It does make me miss the days when Isaac liked dressingup. He’s too cool for that now, but he is good with kids, and my students love when he comes to visit. I shouldn’t have teased him this morning—I may need his help wrangling this chaos later.
There’s so much I enjoy about teaching, but lately it’s been hard to keep up, and I feel like I’m failing at everything. With only one of me, I’m stretched thin—between all the paperwork at school, all the paperwork my kid brings home, and all the paperwork my mailman keeps bringing me, it’s too much to keep up with. And that’s just the paper.
After way too many sugar crashes, one very sticky Batman, and a farting incident that derailed story time for thirty minutes, I’m exhausted when I walk in my house later that night, and I need something to help me relax.
“I’m gonna play with my friends then head to bed,” Isaac says as he climbs the stairs to his gaming cave, otherwise known as his bedroom. I’m probably a shit mom for letting him have a computer in his room, but he’s a good kid and I trust him. Plus, his dad bought it for him, and I didn’t really have much say in that matter.
While I wait for him to crash, I grab the empty candy bowl off the porch and scroll through a hookup app on my phone. Okay, now I’m definitely a shit mom, but it’s been six months since I’ve had a good manhandling, and I need it after today.
An hour later, Brandon shows up and I sneak him into my room, locking the door behind us as we furiously paw at each other. He’s a little too timid with his tongue for my liking.
“We have to be quiet. My kid is down the hall,” I whisper while removing Brian’s belt. Or was it Brad? Who the fuck cares?
“Shit, you have a kid?” He pauses after removing my bra from under my shirt.
