The odds are pretty good

Dinner is a never ending source of frustration for My Honey and I.  Every single dinner turns into a teeth gritting, eye glaring fiesta of torment.  I can’t understand how I gave birth to and raised two people to the ages of 5 and 7 who have less skill in reading body language than a retarded sea monkey.  Honestly.  And it is unfathomable that neither one of them is even remotely deterred by my Pirate Look of Death glare.

Tonight, My Honey was tired of the usual games and when I came back from using the bathroom, there were children already in their pajamas.

“Tell your daughter to brush her teeth and go to the bathroom,” his said this with eyes wide, lips pursed, and his head tilted slightly to the left.  This is a sure sign that his control is tenuous. 

Across the room, the girl is lounging on the couch in her flannel princess nightgown.  She’s watching television and doesn’t look even remotely worried.  “Go brush your teeth and finish getting ready for bed.”

Sassy sat up and tore her gaze from the television.  “What?” she asked, disbelief clear in her voice.

I gave her father a staying look.  “Go brush your teeth and do what ever you need to and get in bed,” I repeated.

She looked at the clock and saw how far it was from her usual bedtime and then stalked down the hall.  “Oh my God,” I heard her tell her brother.  “They’re actually sending us to bed.”

“What?” exclaimed The Bandit, clearly as unbelieving as his sister.  “Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah,” she huffed the words.

And go to bed they did.  I didn’t know what to do with myself.  Guess what I did.  I finished the book I’ve been reading for – it seems forever – and it’s a shame because it’s been a really fantastic book – book two in the Blades of the Rose series by Zoe Archer.

An hour of guilt free reading.  Ahhhhhhh.  Maybe they’ll be horrible again tomorrow.