Why Am I Always the Bad Guy?

My boys have a severe affinity for all things electronic. Between a house full of computers, a Wii, several handheld video game contraptions and a bucket of rechargeable batteries, I am sometimes amazed that the DEA is not busting in our door, demanding to know why our house lights up like a Christmas tree on an infrared map.

My husband has a computer the size of a large appliance, and it frequently is running on whatever game-of-the week he has found for the boys’ general amusement. This week, it’s some craziness involving cartoonish zombies waging an epic battle against smiling flowers and shrubbery. I don’t pretend to understand, and they can’t drag themselves away long enough to explain it to me:

While my youngest avoids brushing his teeth before school, he continues on his quest for zombie-domination. And it’s kind of hard to take Mom’s dire threats of lateness seriously when you have Daddy behind you, cheering you on:



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