Big ass guns? No worries!

Mr. Wonderful has a new toy. It's some type of huge ass rifle that weighs about a zillion pounds, is a mile long and is louder than a sonic boom when it fires. He's been cleaning it and polishing it and adoring it and making it look all pretty and bragging about it every chance he gets it. It never leaves his side - hell, we sleep with it right next to the bed!

This past weekend, we were at the little house in the woods, the gun was there naturally, and Manchild decided that he could fulfill my wildest dream (according to him) by letting me shoot the beast as I like to call it. Oh joy of joys (cue the harps and angels singing), the clouds in the skies parted, golden beams of sunlight shone down, birds chirped and I fell to my knees - overcome with joy. Meeee? Reeeeealllllyyyyyy? I get to shoot the beast? Was I worthy??? I mean, my manicure was 3 days old and my hair wasn't freshly coiffed. Oh, lucky me.


The first time I shot a rifle during my inaugural days as a part time redneck, it took me many tries before I was brave enough to even pull the trigger. I finally conquered my fears and became a weekend fan of shooting big can beer cans. Part of my joy in shooting is the fact that Mr. Man can strut and postulate, pontificate and preen, lock, load, aim and fire aaaannnnnndddd.......... miss on the first try. I've been fortunate enough to timidly pick up the proffered rifle, struggle to hold it up long enough to aim, fire and nail the target on the FIRST shot. I was never annoying enough to strut and crow because I was superior. I would simply shrug and smile and gently put the gun down.

This particular weekend since Mr. Man decided I was worthy of shooting his newest beloved hunk-o-iron, I figured I'd really bungle the shot since 10 people were watching, I had never fired such a huge cannon and to tell the truth - I was scared. This gun is SO big, is has a bi-pod so it can be rested on a table and the only thing that has to be lifted is the back end. I lifted up the 250 lb. hiney end of the gun, took aim, held my breath and fired.

 The way the target I hit flew up into the air was spectacular! It tumbled gracefully end over end and when it landed, I fired and hit it again, setting off another round of aluminum acrobatics. Hooray for me! No one else who fired the beast (including 2 seasoned law enforcement officers) hit the target on the first try and made it dance the way I did. Just little ole' me. The girl who had never fired the beast before.

As I placed the 250 lb. hiney end of the gun on the table, I shrugged my shoulders, smiled and walked back to the group of ladies I had been sitting with. And when the men walked away to look at the target that I had just annihilated, I got high fives from all of the lady folk. Boo-yah! Big ass guns? No worries!

You show me you love me by drooling on me???

I've told you before about my kitty lover Schwayze who loves to sleep on my head. He's almost full grown and he still does it. I'm sure I'll be having neck surgery before long to replace the cartilage there, too. By the time I die, I'll have a fake spine all together. Manchild begs him to sleep on his head but my kitty boy won't have anything to do with him. He's GOT to sleep on MY head.


When he was younger he was content to simply sleep on my head. As he got older, he started kneading, too. He'll place each paw on either side of my head on my neck and knead away, working his claws deeper and deeper into my flesh, working his way towards my jugular veins so he can kill me. Then in addition to all of that, he started licking my hair and getting it all wet before he can fall asleep (forget me falling asleep with all of that going on!). Now, he shows his love and adoration by drooling on me. I've managed to somehow fall asleep with all of the painful kneading and licking and neck breaking going on but now I have to contend with rivulets of drool on my face! GIVE ME A BREAK SCHWAYZE!!!


I know he loves me and that I'm his Mom. He sticks by me more than anyone else in the house even though my oldest kidlet is the one who brought him home and claimed him as hers. Manchild desperately tries to get him to love him and be his kitty. He pets him and scratches him in all the right places and gently tugs his ears juuuuust right but he doesn't get the drool treatment. Nope, that's reserved just for me. Lucky me. Us Moms are so lucky. We get all of the good stuff. Sick kids want us (so we get vomit and the shits), our cats love us so we get kneaded to death and drool, our husbands love us so we get koozies and lawn mower blades for mothers day. I tell ya - I wouldn't give it up for anything in the world.