We eat dinner together, the four of us, most nights. Some nights it doesn't work out because Jason has a somewhat crazy schedule (it gets worse during tax season. Joy) but we all sit at our little table together at least five times a week and have a meal. When we lived in North Carolina we didn't do this. I like that we do this.
I do not like, however, the fact that it takes Girl Child approximately six hours to finish a meal. I swear she is the slowest eater on the planet. I recognize that Boy Child eats like he's afraid whatever it is will run off of his plate and Jason, well, he does nearly everything fast; talking, driving, and yes, eating. So usually, Boy Child is finished first, then Jason, then me, and then Girl Child.
Last night I was feeling exhausted, annoyed, and honestly? Sorry for myself. The upshot of this past week is that I absolutely have to get a new job. As fast as possible. I don't even want to think about what will happen if I don't.
Anyway. I didn't feel like making dinner.
Instead? I took a bath.
Jason came home and said, "I'm sorry you had a bad day babe. Did you enjoy your bath? I'll take care of dinner."
And before you go, "Awww!" or anything my husband, the former CHEF, ordered pizza. So it was sweet but let's not give him more credit than he deserves.
I didn't feel right. My stomach is torn up because of the events of the last week and I didn't feel like eating much. I finished my food and got up from the table to transfer my laundry from the washer to the dryer. I heard the children and the husband talking and I heard the husband issue the standard warning of the evening:
"Girl Child, if you don't finish your food before TheAssignedTime, you will have to take the puppy out by yourself."
The children always take the dog out together. And take the trash out together. Also? Boy Child goes to Girl Scout meetings. My point is, there are pretty much attached at the hip. Having to do something alone is akin to cutting off a limb. At least when you are twins, I guess.
Every evening the warning is slightly different. But there is always a warning. Always.
Jason then turns on the television. To FOX NEWS.
I am not a fan of the Fox News. In fact, I don't care for any news on television because it just annoys me. I like to read my news; the local newspaper so I can find out who shot out what red-light cameras this week, and the internet for my CNN fix. I think the television news has just become something I really don't care for. I'll watch it from time to time, but I generally get annoyed and disgusted and turn it off.
But he likes the news. He would watch news twenty-four/seven. Because apparently and unbeknown to me, he's a two-hundred year old man who likes prunes and has prostate issues and likes to complain about things he can't change. Like the weather.
Okay, not really. But he likes the news.
Apparently the children were sneaking glances at the television while eating. Our floor plan is open and our living room and kitchen are side by side, so the television is easily visible. I heard Jason give the children a warning to stop watching television while they were eating.
And really? What did he expect? Children see the television and think, "Oooh. Shiny Picture box". They don't give a crap what's on. It's tv! Of course they will look.
It was quiet for a moment and then I heard the children protesting loudly and in unison,
"DAD! OH MY GOD! STOP! GROSS! GROOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSS! DAD!!!!"
I went into the living room and there was Jason.
Standing in front of the television.
With his pants off his butt.
Mooning the children.
"Jason," I said.
That was all I could say.
Boy Child shrieked, "WE DO NOT WANT TO SEE THAT!"
Girl Child added, "YEAH! WE DO NOT NEED TO SEE DAD'S HAIRY BUTT!"
I said nothing for a moment and then,
"Exactly why....are the children seeing your hairy butt?"
He smiled, pleased with himself. "I figured they wouldn't look over here at the tv if my ass was blocking it!"
"Jason," I said. And stopped.
"It's the best plan ever!" he said, gleefully.
"Jason," I said,
"I am so blogging about this."