It is said that on All Hallow's Eve, the veil between the living and the dead is at it's thinnest. I completely believe it because I am almost certain that my children have been possessed by some kind of monsters or demons today. And we are supposed to drag them around and have them beg for candy to add to the sugar high? Hell no. NOT. FREAKING. HAPPENING.
So far my youngest has colored all over himself and the couch (that I just cleaned) with pink highlighter, and then ripped his diaper off and peed in the Yard Sale Box. I'd say the value of the items in there has pretty much depreciated about as far as it can go without them being set on fire. Instead of helping contain the insanity that is my toddler, Tink has been feeding it to him with a shovel.
"Let's kick the ball!" (She forgot to add, "into Mom's jade plants!")
"Wanna play with the horsey?" ("And swing it around until we wipe out half of the items on the desk?")
I think there is some kind of exchange of words that takes place in a frequency that can only be heard by other children that are in hellfire mode. They plot out the attack, morph into little evil, sanity-sucking monsters and berate their parents with shot after shot until we are left a quivering mass on the bathroom floor, all the while listening to the little scratching of fingernails on the door, trying to get in and finish the job. I hear that sound in my nightmares sometimes.
Normally I would discipline and time out until I exorcised the demons and my wonderful children returned. Today is not normal. Mommy is handing control of the asylum over to the patients. I am going to finish dinner, confiscate the remote and watch and episode of "Parenthood" on Netflix, and fantasize about how wonderful it would be to solve all of our problems in an hour.
About that time Daddy should be home to deal with it, and Mommy can have a cocktail.
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