Last Sunday my husband was going through Julius's backpack in order to get him ready for back-to-school after a two week holiday vacation plus one week of being snowed in and school being canceled.
After some digging around in the backpack he pulls out what, at first glance, appeared to be a very adorable Gingerbread Man that the teacher had made for the kids to decorate. At second glance my husband realized that our son had turned the potentially cute gingerbread guy into a crazed gingerbread zombie with a black screaming maw and blood streaming from the corners of his mouth and down his chest.
Rob gasped, "Oh, JOOOLIUUSSSS...." This was followed by a long conversation about how a guy in first grade needs to stick with the expected holiday agenda and on Christmas draw joyful, carefree pictures of gift-giving abundance, well-endowed gingerbread houses and fresh, plump holly berries and mistletoe.
My son's response was to grin maniacally as if what he'd done was the funniest thing in the universe. (As if we hadn't already had conversations about inappropriate artwork such as swastikas and landscapes that make it appear as if his mother must beat him and lock him in the closet sometimes.)
I think we might be safe so far. We've not gotten any calls from the school just yet, although, maybe they are afraid to call me considering already I've yelled at them once about my kid getting beat up on the bus and also about Jesus.
Secretly, though, the real problem is I think the picture is cool. I mean, really... bloody crazed Gingerbread Man? That's some good Hollywood horror material. I'm thinking about scanning this guy and using it as our family Christmas card next year. Rob says no, and adds he understands now why our son is like he is.
I'm not sure, but I think he means me.