Rest easy. The federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has assured the general public that zombies are not coming to eat our brains.
“â€˜CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms),â€™ wrote agency spokesman David Daigle in an email to The Huffington Post.â€
Because naturally, the government would send out a mass email crying PANIC if the dead were rising, rather than simply issuing a note instructing everyone to remain calm. Right? (Or more likely, some poor CDC flack is thinking, â€œSeriously? I had to issue a statement about zombies? My career has reached a new high/low.â€ (Depending on how you feel about zombies of course.)
Now I know what youâ€™re thinking. Itâ€™ll be a cold day in hell before Iâ€™ll believe in animated corpses. Well interesting point here â€“ as today was a rainy 55 degrees following a gorgeous sunny 85-degree weekend.
Hereâ€™s the thing. I think that whole gruesome rotting flesh is nothing more than a PR stunt. Because thatâ€™s what they want us to think.
When in reality, my kidâ€™s a zombie.
I know this. Because the little velociraptor spent the weekend trying to eat his brotherâ€™s brains.
I am not making this up. I acquiesced to a morning of â€œNO PANTS,â€ which of course led to non-mommy-sponsored naked-time. One desirable choo-choo train argument later, and Search lunged.
Without the protection of clothing, a relatively full set of toddler chompers left their impression down Destroyâ€™s back. Apparently unaware he has five pounds on his brother, he simply curled into a ball and screamed like a banshee. The main focal point of the attack was the back of the neck.
Obviously going for the brain stem.
Several months ago I was asked, â€œIf the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow, which weapon would you want to have to fight these brain eaters?â€
Is this a trick question? The answer is obviously a flamethrower. Threaten my family and youâ€™re going down in a fiery ball of defeat. It will be like fireworks of victory. Unless youâ€™re actually a zombie trying to figure out what my methods of battle are. In which case the answer is ninja stars â€“ pay no attention to the bright orb hurling toward youâ€¦
However, as it turns out, Iâ€™m raising one of them. So the new weapons of choice are Ritz Crackers and Teddy Grahams. (And also maybe a bottle of wine for mom.) I hear they stem the craving for brotherâ€™s brains. Who knew zombies were really so damn cute.
Jon stated, â€œA week ago I had perfect children. Then they turned 2. Now they are demon children.â€ (Or more accurately â€“ screaming zombies.)
To all you parents who assured me, â€œThe twos really arenâ€™t so bad. Terrible twos is a misnomer. Itâ€™s the threes thatâ€™ll get you.â€
P.S. Since I know GrammaJ is squirming in her seat right now, here is a public invitation to guest blog about the trials you faced raising the adorable me at age 2 and 3. (You know you wish you had this blogging platform when I was an, um, adventurous toddling demon strong-willed little one.)
P.P.S. For any of you saying, â€œOh just wait until three, and THEN you can compare.â€ Iâ€™m going with the theory that you just remember the threeâ€™s more since those years are closer in the rearview mirror of life. So there.