"Daddy wants snuggles!" Hubby bellowed yesterday morning, still laying in bed, not yet up and moving around before getting ready to go to church.
The kids were all downstairs and didn't hear them, so I went to the stairs and called down to the kids. "Hey, girls? Daddy wants snuggles!"
"Oh, geez," I heard Oldest say. But she trooped upstairs and to our room, and then half-heartedly leaned into Hubby for a quasi-hug.
"This is all I get?" Hubby asked. "A measly half-hug?"
Oldest giggled a little. She's in youth group now, you know, and so she's too cool for snuggles. But she leaned in again before leaving the room.
I went back out to the stairs. "Hey! Daddy wants snuggles! Where are you?"
Youngest scrambled up the steps and raced into our room, sprawling across Hubby's chest. "Are we gonna get donuts this morning?"
"Don't we always get donuts on the way to church?" He gave her a cheeky grin as he reminded her of what's become a Sunday morning tradition over the last several weeks.
"I tell you what," Hubby said conspiratorially, "since you're not dressed yet, I'll bet you that I can get dressed faster than you."
Youngest looked at him skeptically.
"If I get dressed first, you have to buy the donuts this morning. But if you get dressed first, I'll buy the donuts."
Youngest's eyes lit up at the thought of a challenge.
"Are you gonna go? 'Cause I'm gonna get up and get dressed! You'd better get moving!"
Youngest hightailed it out of the room, squealing that she was going to win.
Hubby rolled over, tucked the comforter up under his neck, and grinned at me. "I'm not moving."
I just laughed.
Within five minutes, Youngest was back in our room, fully dressed, tailed by Middle, who sprawls on top of Hubby.
"You're not dressed, Daddy! I'm gonna win!" Youngest shrieks with delight.
This caused Middle to launch off her father and grab a pair of white tube socks out of his dresser. She started yanking one onto his left foot. "Win! Win! Win! Win! Win! Win! WIN! WIN! WIN! WIN!"
As his foot was getting jerked around, Hubby gave me something of a bumfuzzled look. By then, I was laughing so hard that tears were leaking out of my eyes. Middle continued to chant "WIN!" at the top of her lungs.
"You're writing this, right?" Hubby asked between my hoots of laughter.
"Oh, heck yes," I gasped out.
Youngest had, in the height of the sock-pulling-on melee, departed the room and returned...now wearing her winter coat. Really ready to go.
"She's not done yet; her hair's not brushed!" Middle complained.
"I won!" Youngest countered.
"Daddy, she's not done yet. Her hair's not brushed! You win!"
Hubby chuckled as he met my gaze. "I've got a sock on. I'm ready to go to church!"
Youngest squealed. "Ew, Daddy, no!"
"Why not? I'm dressed. I've got a sock on. I can go to church just like this!"
He shooed them out of the room so we could get dressed.
And, yes, he made good on the bet.
He bought the donuts.