Won't Get Foiled Again

So, okay, I'm starting to see how some of my 'fun' activities for the kids might be having somewhat of a negative psychic effect on them. Yesterday, while I was magically crafting the pineapple upside-down cake from thin air, I was trying to keep the kidlets from murdelizing each other. I had a little bit of aluminum foil left over (or as the Brits like to say, "aluminium"... yeah, they sound so smart with them fancy accents, but they're not smegging the squiffy over this guy's nubblies) and I tried to think of something that would keep them occupied.

Then I noticed their evil, naked, chubby doll friend, Loordelanz, Jr. lounging on the counter out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed him, slapped a piece of foil over his face, molded it a bit and said:

ME: Hey guys, look! Loordelanz, Jr. is wearing a death mask!



Of course, they were thrilled. They started grabbing all the dolls they could find, wrapping their faces in foil and creating their own shrouds of death. Elmo had one, Fairytopia Barbie had one -- even talking PeeWee Herman had one:



It was good, clean family fun -- that is, if you're a member of the Manson family. It wasn't until about a half-hour later that I realized that there might be some tiny connection between this kind of activity and, say, the non-stop, single-minded obsession with death that Mr. Z has been embroiled in for the last, oh, five or so years.

It was then that I impotently suggested that "Hey, these can also just be fun Halloween masks too, if you guys want." Too late. We now have little silver Shrouds of Turin scattered about the house and we'll be undoing the damage from this little extracurricular activity for years and years to come.

Maybe tomorrow we can grab a couple squirrels, toss them in the toaster oven and learn a little lesson about cremation!