The Zombie Apocalypse

Rest easy. The federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has assured the general public that zombies are not coming to eat our brains.

“‘CDC does not know of a virus or condition that would reanimate the dead (or one that would present zombie-like symptoms),’ wrote agency spokesman David Daigle in an email to The Huffington Post.”

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, “Seriously? I had to issue a statement about zombies? My career has reached a new high/low.” (Depending on how you feel about zombies of course.)

Now I know what you’re thinking. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I’ll believe in animated corpses. Well interesting point here – as today was a rainy 55 degrees following a gorgeous sunny 85-degree weekend.

Here’s the thing. I think that whole gruesome rotting flesh is nothing more than a PR stunt. Because that’s what they want us to think.

When in reality, my kid’s a zombie.

I know this. Because the little velociraptor spent the weekend trying to eat his brother’s brains.

I am not making this up. I acquiesced to a morning of “NO PANTS,” 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 Destroy’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, “If the zombie apocalypse happened tomorrow, which weapon would you want to have to fight these brain eaters?”

Is this a trick question? The answer is obviously a flamethrower. Threaten my family and you’re going down in a fiery ball of defeat. It will be like fireworks of victory. Unless you’re actually a zombie trying to figure out what my methods of battle are. In which case the answer is ninja stars – pay no attention to the bright orb hurling toward you…

However, as it turns out, I’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 brother’s brains. Who knew zombies were really so damn cute.

Jon stated, “A week ago I had perfect children. Then they turned 2. Now they are demon children.” (Or more accurately – screaming zombies.)

To all you parents who assured me, “The twos really aren’t so bad. Terrible twos is a misnomer. It’s the threes that’ll get you.”


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, “Oh just wait until three, and THEN you can compare.” I’m going with the theory that you just remember the three’s more since those years are closer in the rearview mirror of life. So there.

Two terrible twos


Filed under Current Events

6 Responses to The Zombie Apocalypse

  1. Joanne Hamann

    OUCH! But look how cute and brotherly they look in the picture!! And Tricia, I don’t think biting was one of your 2 year old transgressions – so there!

  2. Ashley Pearce

    Love the picture and LOVE those two terrible two BOYS! 🙂

  3. My son definitely was worse during the threes. I didn’t understand about terrible twos until my daughter came along. She whines and cries about EVERY. LITTLE. THING. Flings herself on the floor and kicks the wall. Plays plastic sword-fight with the dog, who is rightly terrified of her. It’s true what they say about why God makes them cute. Haven’t witnessed any disconcerting zombie symptoms though, I’ll count that as a positive. 🙂

    Love your stories.

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