We may have created a monster...

It's no secret Dr. Who is a popular thing in this house and we've got a running list of cute little incidents involving it and the kids.

La bringing home a drawing from school which he proudly told me was, "The Doctor. And his TARDIS. And his sonic screwdriver!" and explaining why the TARDIS is orange with a smug little "I FIXED the chameleon circuit!" was just plain cute.

Lily started recognizing the Doctors and chirping, "Doctor DOOO!" at 18 months old we mutually agreed was all kinds of adorable.

When La spent the day dancing around chanting "I. Am. Your. Soldier!", quoting lines and speaking everything in an electronic halting voiced Dalek tone and I had to explain to his teacher what he was on about it was a tad embarrassing.

The number of times I've had to endure debates over some point of cannon from my five year old and his thirty year old father made me reflect that with his parents normal was never really going to be on the books anyway.

When Nic had on the scene where Bad Wolf decimates the Daleks and Lily glanced up from her building blocks, notices them being atomized out of existence, waved and innocently chirped "bye bye, see ya later!" we both snorted our drinks.

The fact that Laurent, having nabbed a colouring marker and scrawled a green slash across his forehead, spent the afternoon informing people he was "Slitheen" and about to emerge from his skin suit while making farting noises was a bit much but still... it was cute, in a geek!Pride kind of way. To be honest, we always rather suspected he was possessed and one day the mother ship would one day return for him... so a skin-suited Raxacoricofallapatorian wasn't too far a stretch.

For the past week though my darling little spawn latched onto a pen he asserts is a sonic screwdriver (and dang if he hasn't mastered the "you've dribbled on yourself" look if you try and correct him) and steadfastly started REFUSING to do a dang thing unless he first sonic screwdrivered it. Food? Not edible unless it's scanned and analyzed first. Going anywhere? Not unless it's the direction the sonic screwdriver is leading him. Clothing? Not unless he's checked it's not an alien in disguise. Twenty. Four. Hours. A. Day.

We MAY possibly just have gone a smidge too far in indoctrinating the children.