Felicity Huffman's What the Flicka-Sex Guide

Eleven minutes and twenty seven seconds…

…the time it took for the kids to notice The Big Guy and I were no longer sitting on the couch, enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon.

(Whispered) “OMG! Why? Why are they knocking?!”

(Yelled) “We will be out in a minute….”

(Yelled) “Mommy, why is your door locked? What are you guys doing in there?”

(Whispered) “Yes…Yes…I am going to…cu…”

(Screamed) “MOMMY! I need to show you something….”

Balancing a sex life and five kids is SO. MUCH. FUN.

We decided to take the chance. The kids were outside playing. They hadn’t been inside for what seemed like a peaceful eternity. I brought drinks and popsicles outside to squash any interruption. I handed out warnings that they needed to stay in the front yard for the next few minutes. It was go time. The Big Guy and I were on the clock. He wanted to do it in the shower. I was having a good hair day and immediately closed that door. A good hair day will forever trump shower sex.

We bolted (not kidding, we literally ran) to the bedroom. Clothes were thrown wherever. Blinds were closed because of the damn nosy neighbor kid who loves to peep through the window and loudly say hello if he sees you inside. We were on a mission, on the clock, and the heat of the moment had taken over. At one point we laughed that the kids hadn’t yet found us. The Big Guy warned me to be quiet.

Five minutes later the knocking began. Seriously?! All we wanted (and needed) was a few precious minutes to ourselves.


Mommy was determined to finish what her and daddy started, so Mommy did not answer…BUT she did tell her sexy companion that no matter what, they were finishing.

We did, but not in the nice, relaxing way we had hoped for. Instead, we rushed to the finish line, begrudgingly got dressed, gave each other a quick kiss and went to open the door.

“There better be blood oozing out of at least three different body parts when I open this door,” I whispered to The Big Guy.

“Oh! Hi Mommy!” Diva said, like she was surprised to see us. “What are you guys doing in there?”

“Talking. What do you need? Everyone okay?”

“Silly Mommy, we are fine. I wanted to tell you that I finished my popsicle before it melted. Why is your hair so messy?”

And so the 100 questions began—The Big Guy and I getting interrogated by the CIA’s youngest operative. Slowly we made our way back into the family room, satisfied yet unsatisfied and dreaming of a vacation without kids, without time limits, without interruptions…

…without a clock that now read 11 minutes and 27 seconds later than when our plan of uninterrupted sex had gone into action…

This post was originally published on Dani’s Suburbia Interrupted.