Salsa Rage

Sometimes I forget that I am a parent.

I never forget that I birthed the Hoodlums, partly cause I got it on home video, and partly cause, they always hangin' around. No, my parenting amnesia comes from a deep rooted sense of immaturity. That might come as a surprise to some, but that just means they don't know me very well.

We've had Mexican food for dinner every night this week. After Emma's big birthday Fajita Bar on Sunday, we had leftovers Monday and Tuesday. Then yesterday, Dave was a dink to me, so he apologized with din-din at the Don's. (What he doesn't know, is that when I went to bed without him, I tucked his pillow between my legs, then tucked the covers in tight around me, then let the hospital's "Famous Chili" live up to it's name. Which technically probably made us even.)

That brings me to today. I had lunch at Los Hermanos with an amazing girl, that I am sure is actually my twin sister, separated at birth. Besides being equally irreverent, Lani, is extremely immature, and boycotts fajitas because of the vegetables. If only she didn't live so far away.

*Sigh*

After a lovely lunch, I texted Daveskins, and asked him if he would like me to get him some chips and salsa, or was he Mex'd out this week. I didn't hear back from him, but being the loving, forgiving wife that I am, decided to get some as a surprise. Plus, I figured I would need a pick-me-up after I drove like a mad man home, just in time to attend the Hell, that is, Achievement Days. I don't understand why my church would entrust me with 14, 8 and 9 year old girls. That is such an impressionable age.

It's really like throwing a birthday party for a crap load of pre-tween giggling girls, twice a month, that starts and ends with a prayer for their safety, and my being able to make bail. It's a good thing that I have a helper, although a lot of good she did me last time, when the noise level got so loud, I had to tell the girls about their volume, setting off my epilepsy. It's Brittney, so she knows me, and really should intervene, before I go into graphic detail of their constant chatter, making me thrash, lose bladder control and bite my tongue off. I guess she has her hands, er, back full with the girls trying to jump on her for piggy -back rides. Seriously it is such a circus.

Anyway.

Back to my Mother Amnesia. I know the kids are gathered around the dinner table tonight, because I was scrambling to feed them something for dinner. I managed to rustle up some leftover Boneless Buffalo Wings with Blue Cheese, cheese quesadillas, canned peaches and chocolate milk.......... That was really humiliating to write. Usually I, or someone else, makes us a more well-rounded meal, but both Dave and I had basketball games tonight so we were in a time crunch.

Dave made himself a quesadilla, and I got out the chips and salsa from earlier. This is about the time he completely morphed into a child. He gave me the, "What the Hell, are you doing with my salsa, in front of the Kids?" look. I rolled my eyes, and stuck out my tongue, and continued on with my snack. Dylan distracted me for an instant with the need for a refill on his chocolate milk, and when I turned back to my snack, Dave had emptied all but a 1/2 inch of the salsa into another bowl.

Ridiculous.

He looked like a big, gangly nerd guarding his "test", with his enormous arms piled on each other like a fortress, and his head low to the table, ready to protect his precious salsa. In a move, even I can't believe, the Sucka had forgotten his drink on the other side of the island. Without thinking, he asked me to hand over his beverage. I am going to have to claim Salsa Rage, here, because without so much as a thought to my Sweet Lil' Things, watching, I smiled and said, "Of course." And I did hand it over, right after I dragged the mouth of his Sobe across my butt crack.

It is amazing how a silence can smack you back into your reality. It was dead silent, with the Boys' staring wide-eyed at each other, in a 'Did-You-SEE-That' kind of look. Emma, frozen, with her quesadilla poised mid-air, with only the sour cream dripping off, to indicate motion. I put the bottle down in front of Dave, and Dyl lost it. I used the giggling as distraction to grab the bag of chips and retreat to the opposite side of the kitchen, and it became a stand-off.

Two sides.

Dave threatening to drink the salsa plain, and me saying, "I will straight up smash every last one of these chips." Eventually we worked it out peacefully, with Dave pouring some more salsa in my container, and me doling out a handful of chips. The Boys got into it by ambushing me, and stealing chips for their Father. They mostly got away with it until I grabbed Dyl, flipped him upside down and dumped his head in the snow out the back door.

It was really all in fun, but how am I going to be able to instruct them on the proper etiquette of sharing, when their Father can't even be a good example, over something as meaningless as restaurant quality salsa. Just kidding, I would never demean the importance of a good salsa. I guess the lesson here, is to fight for what you love, even if you are fighting your Lover, for it.