After a 3 year Hibernation


I thought everything was fine. I thought after years we could all go back to normal. That the kids had long forgotten what they had seen. What they had heard. Like any other morning, I stood in my kitchen, looking for something to eat; planning to take advantage of this overcast by relaxing and watching a movie. I should have known better. That couldn’t have so easily been the last of him…

I start to prepare cream of rice with nothing in particular on my mind except the anticipation of breakfast and relaxation. I head to the refrigerator to take out the milk, and after I close the door and turn, my 4-year-old appears. His face solemn. I wait for him to make a request or see if he came to tell me something. After a few seconds which seemed to stretch on for minutes in the silence he speaks but it’s inaudible. I ask him what he said. He looks me dead in the face, our eyes meet and I’m greeted by a cold chill. He opens his mouth to speak again:


“What does the fox say?”


“No…” I am taken aback by this, not believing what I am hearing. For months and months I scoured our ears. I sought to rid our lives of the man who sang the false symphonious calls of woodland creatures. In purging the phones I took no shortcuts. In conversations I took no chances. We fled at the mere mention of wild animals or any sentence beginning with “What does.” We never did the Foxtrot. In books I lied and told you they were creamsicle-colored cat raccoons. I was confident that I had rid our lives of any and all things the fox might say. I was wrong… My son stood before me, and in his hand, like a sword, he held his leappad- the instrument through which the fox returned.

“No…” I repeat. “Don’t. You can’t…”




Sorry my Kids Crashed the Zombie Apocalypse


Have you ever had one of those conversations with someone along the lines of “What if the zombie apocalypse actually happened?” Well, I have. And I have some serious doubts about whether or not I would survive it. Why? You guessed it! My kids. My goddamn kids…

Firstly, there is the question of transportation. Luckily, I have a minivan so for the first time since owning it I can finally be the envy of all my friends. While they’re trying to figure out how to navigate through hordes of the dead without getting blood on their luxury sedans, I’m not worried about blood or brains touching this petri-dish-mobile. It’s spent the last year being a moving vessel for bodily fluids and spilled drinks. Plus, this thing can hold loads of cargo and fits all of our family. It also comes standard with two electrical outlets. So while you are out there in the open, roasting freshly caught game over a fire, we will be having chef boyardee from a microwave. In our van. Like nature intended.

Aside from the van though, which we don’t plan to leave for several months still, there is literally nothing we are able to do with the kids in tow. Oh, you’re sharpening your Hunter-gatherer skills? That’s cool. Yeah today I thought I’d do some post-apocalyptic breaking and entering in the hopes of finding a stash of canned pancakes. Because despite the fact that the world has ended, I still have picky eaters.

As we all know, being ready to run at all times is crucial for survival. A herd is coming and we have 14 seconds to get out of here! But, big surprise! No one can find their shoes and everyone has to poop.

Things that were nearly impossible before will become actually impossible. Like grocery shopping. People will likely hide in places that are packed with food, hoping to ride this thing out. Then, they will most likely eat all of the food, and will likely get themselves eaten too. So it’s a no-go with small kids. Too many dangers. Plus their manners have probably only gotten worse after being sheltered for months in the van. You think it’s embarrassing now when they declare loudly that the lady behind you in the checkout line is old? Imagine  when they point and say “Mommy, that man is dead!” You really can’t take them anywhere.

Kids are noisemakers. And did you know that kid spelled backwards is dik? Diks will get you killed by a zombie, using their noise. Every time.

We love our kids. Everything we do is for them. We would charge, self-sacrificing into a swarm of zombies if it meant saving their lives. And how are we repaid? By constantly having to charge into a swarm of zombies to recover our diks because they think our hysteria is nothing short of hilarious.

Now let’s cover, lastly, the fact that small kids have zero sense of self-preservation. I mean, my job as mom broken down to its simplest form is me, all day long, trying to keep the kids from killing themselves. Since we have to hide batteries, cover outlets, and attempt to prevent their head-first kamikaze stunts from the couch, we can’t expect them to see zombies as any real danger. I mean they’re semi-functioning and disguised as people. Which is basically the same condition in which my kids are used to seeing me. In their eyes, zombies are just normal parents, unshowered, and wandering around, probably looking for their kid’s shoes.


How to Misplace Blame, Lie to Your Kids, and Come Out a Winner


So your kid lost a tooth yesterday at school and you forgot to leave money under the pillow because, let’s face it, you’re a jerk. I mean the kid talked about nothing else all night and carried the damn tooth around like Frodo and the ring and you still forgot because you started tuning them out around 5 p.m. But, in your defense, you had a lot on your mind, and you had to remember to catch up on The Walking Dead, which you’re already 3 episodes behind on. I mean, that’s like all of your memory storage space right there. What does this kid really expect? But, this child has now realized that they were stiffed by the Tooth Fairy and they’re at your bedside at 6 a.m. demanding an explanation. This is how they catch you off-guard. This is how they win. They get to you before your mind is fully able to function and make sound decisions. This is also usually around the time of day that they ask to have toast with butter and gummy bears for breakfast, and you agree without realizing it. But, this time you effed-up and you know it, so you try to think as quickly as your brain will allow.

“Well, it’s because we didn’t write a letter to the Tooth Fairy before bed last night, which you should have reminded me about.”

This is genius because it misplaces the blame completely and you are now off the hook from having to answer any more questions before coffee.

And, if your child was any kind of decent human being they’d accept that it was their fault and sulk back to their room. But, they aren’t. They then present you with a hand-written, tear-stained letter addressed “deaR toof arry” and you wonder how long your kid has known how to write, let alone write behind your back. You surmise that they taught themselves how to write just to use it against you at the right time. They did, after all, come from you — the mom who put zombies before her kid and is trying to cover it up somehow.

So, then you agree to get out of bed because you’ve screwed yourself with the letter idea and it’s up to you to salvage their shattered spirit. You curse yourself and wonder why you ever introduced the Tooth Fairy at all. You wonder whether that mom who claimed she wouldn’t let her kids believe in Santa wasn’t actually a genius. Now you offer to make them toast with gummy bears because you know you’ll need it as a diversion. You also know that this means you’ll have to serve them this breakfast for the rest of your life, and that’s the price your shitty-self must pay. You grab whatever money you have in your purse and shove it inside their pillowcase. Surely they didn’t check there, or if they did, they obviously didn’t check thoroughly enough because they are careless, which you will be sure to remind them of after they discover the money. Now not only are they convinced that they weren’t forgotten after all, but that they’re actually just thoughtless for not looking in the right place, (which you’ve forgiven them of…merciful you), and you didn’t get caught lying and get to go back to bed. And you can, because you were smart and taught your kid how to use Netflix despite what that mom said about refusing to let her kid watch TV. Who’s the genius now?