At T minus 15 on the bedtime clock, my kids morph into wild eyed creatures desperate for one last gasp of euphoria.  Last night’s scene:  Zach is hopping in a laundry bag squealing, “I’m a dead bunny.  It’s dinner tiiiiiiiiiime!”.  Mid hop, Asia shoves him across the room where he crumples to a heap.  The scene repeats until Asia spots a bra hanging on a hook.  Leaping across the room, she grabs the poor bra, and proceeds to swing Tarzan style, shouting madly, “I’m gonna put on my boobies!”.  I do not know what to make of these things.