Year of Writing 24

1/24/12

She's not like other three year olds. I mean, she has her fair share of Barbies (princess Barbies no less), but she spends hours introducing those Barbies to her Star Wars action figures, in some strange matchmaking ceremony that I really don't understand, although I do have to make most of the sound effects. The new thing is Zombies. We tell zombie stories , she asks Zombie questions (Daddy, if I have no blood in my leg, will it turn into a zombie leg?), and most recently - we have zombie picnics. A zombie picnic is pretty freakin' awesome. What you do is lay out a blanket on your living room carpet, set up a bunch of stuffed animals, like all of them - then commence to eat their brains. The best is the flavor comparisons; how the pink bear's brains taste like strawberry pie, the alien's brains taste like lime jello, etc... She does draw the line, however. When I tried to sample our little dog Charlie's brains, she put her foot down. "No Daddy!" She said, "that's too real. He's a real dog." These are the heartwarming moments when you realize that you are not raising a sociopath, just a great kid with a penchant for the macabre.