Sex on Sunday

"You people need a telly."

We get this a lot when we tell people we have five kids.

Last weekend we sat all five kids down in front of the telly.  And then locked ourselves in our room. 

Somehow I don't think this is what people had in mind when they told us to get a television!  I must have been out of my mind.  Or drinking.  Funny how what worked in highschool - uni I mean, uni - is what still works now.  Pleading.  Over and over until I get tired of saying 'no'.  Rum and coke.  I'll even drink 'em warm.

Just like highschool. 

Except now we're hiding from the kids instead of from our parents.

(Oh God, there is such a good reason I am not sending my daughter into highschool!)

So we go to open the door.  Turn the lock.

And something doesn't go click and the handle doesn't turn and the door is jammed shut.

From the outside.

What the hell are we going to tell the police when they have to come and get us out?  It's a Sunday afternoon.  There is alcohol on the kitchen table.  And five children - including a one year old and twin six year olds - unsupervised in front of the telly.

Oh Lord, we are going to prison.

For having sex on a Sunday.

We consider - or I do anyway - sending Damon out the window.  Two stories down.

I am telling you.  This was just like highschool all over again!

We end up calling the kids downstairs through the open window.

"Andrew.  Andrew."

No answer.

"Andrew.  Get up here."

All five of them finally come trudging up the stairs, breathless with excitement.

This is An Emergency. 

What the heck are Mom and Dad doing locked in the bedroom?  Unfortunately the twins are old enough to have their suspicions, although they are a little unclear on the details.  The older two know.

Ew.

But better this than explaining it to the police.

"Silly Daddy played a trick on Mommy and locked us in the bedroom."

Ryan and Andrew go along with it.  It's a bit like believing in Santa Claus.  You don't really anymore but you go along with it anyway for the free presents.  Or in this case, hiding from the Ugly Truth.

"Stick a little pin in the hole near the knob."

I would laugh if I wasn't so angry.

"I can't do it Dad, I can't do it."

"It's that or call the police son.  Give it another go."

I consider calling out the windows to the neighbours.  Except they already don't speak to us.

Should we send the kids outside for a ladder?

Meanwhile Damon is trying to get the door off its hinges.  With his fingernails.

Finally something clicks and the knob turns.

The boys all turn and run back downstairs as fast as they can.  Ryan smirks at me.

"It's your Dad's fault."  I tell her. 

Lord, please let her be wiser than I am.

Or at least have a higher alcohol tolerance.

Rum and coke and a telly.

Thinking maybe we should start watching the programming!