He's turned them all.

Don't get me wrong. I want to be a mother. The pursuit of raising our children to be happy, well-adjusted, intelligent, contributing adults is my life's labor.

Usually my husband backs me up on this. But sometimes, I feel as if Mom's training takes us one step forward and Dad's influence takes us two steps back.

For example, the other night, dinner began with me quizzing the children on the mnemonic devices for the Great Lakes and the planets in our solar system. We quickly digressed.

Faster than you can say "Brains!", our topics went from Lake Huron, to Pluto the un-planet, to the fog on the road today, to the perfect weather conditions for a zombie apocalypse.

"I hope the zombies don't come out," our seven-year-old son said in a grave, somber voice. He had experienced the low and quick-moving fog first hand, and I guess this translated to the inevitable zombie onslaught.

Dad admitted that it would indeed be bad if zombies came out, but snatching up the teaching moment, he assured our young brood with the plain facts.

"With zombies," he explained, "it all comes down to ammo. You have to have enough ammo to hold off the zombie hoard." And with a smirk on his face, he added, "We could hold off the zombie hoard for quite some time."

Oh, good, I thought. Since that's resolved, let's talk about my blooming dahlias.

Our seven-year-old then revealed his zombie slaying protocol. "I would just dress up like a zombie, pretend to be one of them, and then ambush them from behind."

"That would work. . .as long as they don't smell you," Dad pointed out.

Our oldest quickly offered the solution. "Just use zombie oderant."

Wanting to be part of the happy conversation, our five-year-old daughter announced, "You have to eat your bacon, Gilbert."

Poor dear, I thought. She just wants to have a voice. I'm with her. Let's talk about bacon.

Our oldest revealed his tactic. "I would use my bow and arrow."

Dad encouraged, "A bow and arrow is actually a great choice, because you can reuse an arrow to kill more zombies."

Our oldest daughter tried again, "Who wants to camp like a zombie?" But her question fell on deaf ears.

Then our seven-year-old son suggested another plan. "We should use our MAC 10."

"Well, if we did that," clarified Dad, "we wouldn't have it on fully automatic, because that would waste ammo."

Well, let's use some of it and just shoot me now. 

Our daughter offered the final question, "Who wants to eat some Freddy?" At which, my young family joined in a rousing chorus of, "All we want to do is eat your brains!" My toddler and infant daughters laughed heartily at the joy of it all.

My first mistake was trying to raise intellects. I should've seen this coming. Smart brains are infinitely more nutritious and delicious than dumb brains.

So they say. I wouldn't know. I haven't been turned yet.

You want proof my brain is still intact? Just ask me the names of the Great Lakes.