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.
