What's the time, Mr Zombie?

One of the most interesting things about having children is how they start to want to look after you as they grow older, and they start to feel that you are their responsibility. This morning son number one showed me a Zombie Apocalypse bracelet he had made for himself out of four rubber bands. 'You should get one' he said, 'What if you need it and you haven't made one and you don't take my advice? Then you'll be dead.'

Obviously I don't need a rubber band bracelet, however necessary it might be during an actual Zombie Apocalypse but now because of son number one's insistence I'm starting to feel as if I might be unprepared and regretful if I don't fashion one, forthwith.

But it's alright though because apparently Even though I am hideously unprepared and not taking it seriously enough he's going to look after us all anyway and would never leave us to defend our weak selves. He with the four-rubber-band defence system of possibly being able to snap the arses of Zombies. Or something.

The subject of Zombie Apocalypse is so prevalent in my house that husband and he have an exact and specific objective for what to do in the event of one and I feel like I'm letting the side down if I haven't at least considered a basic survival plan. (I have, but I'm not telling you because it's a really good idea and I don't want anyone to steal it.)

So yes. Prepared for Zombies we indeed are.

Relief abounds.

In other Zombie news the smallest child revealed this evening that his favourite playground game is, 'What's the time Mr Zombie?' My mind boggles slightly at this; whatever happened to, 'What's the time Mr Wolf?'?

I asked if he knew what a Zombie was. 'Yes' he said, 'It walks along with its hands out front like this (holds hands up) and goes Wooo Woooo. And if it touches you, you're dead.'

So there you go.