Day 127 of Veronica Hermes being away on her girls’ weekend (who really knows, we lost all means of timekeeping ages ago):
The children have converted back to their primal instincts. The house looks as if 10 frat parties simultaneously went off while I was taking the trash out . . . these aren’t the same children we once had. If we were to release them to storm Area 51, the base would have surrendered within a few hours.
One child was found assisting the small hound in chewing up toys I have never seen before. I am certain we do not own them. When I sent the command for her to stop, she ran away with speeds that do not normally occur within a child. The others were busy using the furniture as cliffs to dive into a foam pit of pillows, blankets, and anything soft they could find. This included a roll of paper towels I had used to clean up an unknown substance spilled (somehow) up to the ceiling.
The boy hasn’t been seen in days, other than to refuel and hydrate. He is but a blur that occurs only when survival is priority.
I loaded them up for a recon/supply run. The children dressed in garbs that resembled homeless heathens. I did not notice until we were too far gone. As we made our way through town, the youngest continued to drift from eternal meltdown to screaming with joy. We quickly realized there was only one place that would accept us . . . so we chose to head on down to the Cracker Barrel.
The children ate as if they hadn’t seen food in weeks. This was, of course, not the case. Piles of food, snacks, and other wrappers littered the entire house in a riot-like fashion.
Once we arrived back home, the real fun started. Bedtime seemed to be months away. As I fought to clean the smallest heathen, she began to switch into turbo mode. I ran to grab a diaper, to return to only a cloud of baby powder and the trail of footprints. I followed the tracks through the chaos to find her ON THE MF-ing KITCHEN TABLE. I subdued the would-be mountain goat and lured her to her crib with her favorite cup of elixir.
The others, of course, scattered like rats in a spotlight during this event. After using the call of “popcorn’s ready!!!” they emerged with squints as their eyes adjusted to the kitchen lights.
The house is now silent. It is eerie. I am terrified. I am huddled in the corner, in the fetal position, where I shall remain until the return of our queen.
This message took me what seemed to be six weeks to write. As if I was chiseling it into stone for the civilizations after me. I feel all forms of communication will cease tomorrow when the eastern sun meets the horizon. Godspeed everyone . . . and GOD BLESS STAY AT HOME MOMS!!!!
This post originally appeared on the author’s Facebook page
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