For two days, I was chained in a basement room about ten feet by ten feet square, fearing for my life should I venture out. My home had been invaded by miniature alien creatures from our own planet: other people's kids.
We had a sleep over. 5 kids under the age of 8, plus two thirteen-year-olds who stayed in my eldest's room unless they were skating. I've stood in the stinking clouds of hell's minions, and I'd rather face demons than other people's kids.
If you have kids that are brats, keep them at home. My youngest daughter was a brat for a year or so, and we didn't let her go anywhere until she demonstrated she could play unsupervised without being a little ... selfish human. You know if your kid is an evil selfish monster. If they are, keep them home, for pity's sake.
When I look at the kids I know, my own and others', I can't help but wonder how in the living fuck magicians ever used them as scrying assistants. They won't even sit still for five minutes, let alone act right for the durtion of a ceremony. "Gabriel is showing me a cup with silver water in it. He's pouring it into a golden stream... I gotta pee!!!"
Ibeh-geh. Screw that. My inner child can handle it.