Chapter Text
i.
"Dads, we took a vote. And none of us wants to eat Bubbie's turbriskefil at Thanksgiving this year. Or next year. Or any year."
Jonah Hawking Wolowitz's shoulders were square and his voice was perfectly steady. He was twelve now. In six months, he'd be bar mitzvahed and officially declared a man by his rabbi and his parents. Currently though, he was still a boy and the boy was giving his father a headache.
Howard ran a hand over his face, a sigh trapped deep in his chest.
"You took a vote?"
"Yes."
"All of you."
"Yes."
"Including Tav."
Tavish Tolkien Wolowitz was currently slumped over in Raj's arms, alternately sucking his teething ring and drooling on his other daddy's paiseley shirt sleeve.
"We made a color-coded drawing and instructed him to touch his answer. He touched the red circle for 'no.'"
"Remind me to kill Sheldon," he whispered over his shoulder. With a crossbow and an icycle and a thousand boxes of 'nilla wafers and teething biscuits. It would serve the man right for giving his oldest child a book on infant cognitive development and enrichment.
Howard looked at Raj, who was rubbing the baby's back and looking as bewildered as he felt. Evidently the consensus between him and Priya had never been impassioned enough on any issue to warrant a united front against their parents.
"Okay," he said, turning back to Jonah, "I get it. You think this is something that's up for debate."
Jonah nodded. "Actually no, considering our result was a majority vote. But if you're wanting to keep this in strictly sociopolitical terms: in a democratic system, citizens are entitled to petition their higher court of appeals for clemency when they feel they have been dealt an unfair punishment by a lower court. We've made our case and now it's up to you to make your decision."
The 'lower court' in this case being their 78-year-old *grandmother*. Howard shook his head, stopping when he felt a hand on his arm.
"Well, if this is a democracy," Raj interjected. "I'm afraid we are going to have to ask for a recount."
At their brother's call, seven-year-old twins Asher and Anisa came running into the living room from the kitchen. Snooping behind the door already, Howard noted. Wonderful. At least they were a few years away from figuring out how his old surveillance equipment worked.
"Howard, take Tav for a minute. Ash, I'm going to need four cloth napkins. Will you go get them for me, please? Thank you."
"What are you doing?" Howard whispered, cradling the baby's dozing head against his shoulder.
Raj leaned in to whisper against his ear. "Relax, I've got this one."
Asher returned, holding up four red cloth napkins. Raj gave each of the older children one, keeping one for himself.
"Your father and I have heard your argument and we want you to know that we understand your feelings. But unfortunately, in this case, our family is not a democracy. It's a monarchy. Now, gather around and I'll show you how to hide the queen's turbriskefil in your napkin."