Josh has this habit. He claims it is because of his ears--they are so sensitive. Anyway. When he is near one of the children and the child begins crying, screaming, or otherwise creating an auditory disturbance that exceeds his threshhold of tolerance (it's pretty low), he blows into the child's mouth. Seriously. He has done this since Jude was a baby, despite my efforts to curb him. And I have made efforts. Baleful glances. Snide remarks. Motherly pleading. Even when I compare him to the Republican Party and its torture tactics with detainees... he still persists.
Tonight, while we were eating dinner, Jude was fussing. She's been fussy all day, actually. She woke up in a ferocious mood, beginning her day by yelling at me about reading her a book, and just continued this way. So while she is sitting next to her Daddy, eating teriyaki chicken and rice, she's also antagonizing the rest of us with her mouth. Honestly, if only that one part of her were SHUT more often, we'd all get along better, I think. Am I the only mother who's ever thought this? Surely not.
Well, she was not sitting in her chair anymore. She had migrated into Josh's airspace, where she was hovering with her grimy hands and her non-stop verbage. And then some small thing upset her, and she wound it up. She started yelling in Josh's ear (it was a proximity thing, not a purposeful one). He turned, and with all the momentum of long-established habit, blew forcefully in her mouth. Except that he had just jammed a huge mouthful of rice in there. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
There was a moment of silence, as there usually is. The child is still catching its breath after the incident. Jude stood there, one foot on Josh's chair, the other crooked over her booster seat. As I looked up, though, instead of seeing Josh's angry disapproving look, I see him LAUGHING. Silently, he is starting to chuckle. Then Jude moves her tongue around, becoming aware of a new object in there. Um, yeah. He spit some rice in her mouth. OOPS!
Of course, she's totally grossed out, and starts spitting it out, but she's grinning too. And then there's me. I'm hysterical. I can't stop laughing, and it's escalating to snorting. I should probably leave the table, but I can't seem to stop laughing long enough to go. What was especially funny was the baby, enthroned in his high chair, watching the show with delight.
Oh, boy. I'm wiping away the tears. Wooo.