The Real Bloody Mary, image viaAs I mentioned a few days ago, we are in the middle of The Remodel. Now before any of you hunt off to search for free p0rn, I promise this post will not consist of any before and after photos. I do not intend to give a daily play-by-play of what is happening in my home.
Though I could.
But I'd be the only one left reading this blog inside of two hours, I am sure.
No, this story only relates to The Remodel as it is the reason my children are now sleeping in the basement.
Which, according to them, is evil, dark, spooky, and/or haunted.
It's been a bit of a battle, most especially with Hannah, to get them to willingly fall asleep down there.
You know, in our fully finished, well-lit, not haunted or evil, basement.
Last night, I sat down to watch a little television in the family room in the basement. It was like a moth to the flame - instantly, all three kids were at my side, attempting to snuggle on the couch. They simultaneously all pretended that I was beautiful and began petting me on the head while cooing words of love.
It was like a flash mob of sudden and really weird affection.
In the middle of the show, a commercial came on. For this movie. When the "Bloody Mary" scene appeared (watch at the 57-second mark, if you're very, very brave) they all three crushed me in a vice grip of fear. I peeled their fingers and bodies off me and told them it was just a stupid commercial for a very stupid movie. I explained who Bloody Mary really was and that it was just a superstitious joke about a terrible Queen in British history.
I even went so far as to say her name three times in the mirror, just to show them the stupidity of it all.
Fortunately, she did not appear. That could have been awkward.
But later that night, I was upstairs getting ready to crawl into bed myself. I heard the sniffles before I saw the feet shuffle in sheepishly. His eyes wide with fear, Chase begged to sleep in my room. Eight seconds later, McKay was at his side making the same request. Before I could weigh a judgement, I looked down to find Hannah tucking herself and five stuffed animals into my bed.
With a sigh, I caved again -- threatening that it would only be this one time. After all, the Husband was out of town and it seemed harmless.
And it was.
McKay was coughing.
Hannah was yelling at McKay because he was coughing.
I was yelling at Hannah because she was yelling at McKay.
Chase was apologizing for everyone because he was afraid I'd send them back downstairs to their graves.
It was a disaster.
In hindsight, it might have been better if Mary had appeared.
At 11:30 p.m. on a school night, my children would probably have had less to fear from her.