Ha ha. Just kidding. This isn’t a political post. (Well… it isn’t meant to be anyways.)
I read somewhere that boys needed to have play guns and that if they don’t have play guns they will turn just about anything into a play gun. I can’t remember which book it was but we’ll just blame it on this one for the sake of time since it seems a safe bet…
I can attest to the truth of this because other than a couple of super cheap cap guns that the kids had several years ago, they have never had many toy guns. But lo, as foretold, they have turned everything into guns, be they sticks, be they legos, be they crackers with a corner bitten off, be they tacos, be they mashed potatoes. (Okay, so I haven’t really witnessed that… but I wouldn’t put it past ’em!) And anything they have not turned into guns, they have turned into swords or light sabres (depending on whether they were being knights or Jedis.)
Tonight while cruising the mall because we wanted to escape the house and there seemed to be nothing else to do (Have I mentioned that it’s cold where we live? Probably not. Actually… it was quite warm today by our standards but still cold enough to snow.) suddenly I decided that the boys needed toy guns. Nerf guns (or whatever brand exists now that is equivalent to what we knew as Nerf.)
I have a confession to make. I didn’t just get them guns because that book up there (may have) told us to get them guns. I did it because I really like Nerf guns. They are just fun to play with.
Our children, having never had us buy them anything at the toy store while just moseying through as we do now and then, thought they had died and gone to heaven when we suddenly decided to purchase toys for them with no birthdays even cresting the horizon. The looks on their faces were almost better than Christmas because on Christmas they expect to get stuff.
So when we got home, the fun began. And here is how it went down.
The fierce hunter waits for just the right moment to shoot his unsuspecting prey…
Clearly, he gets a great deal of pleasure out of shooting this poor helpless ducky.
Soon the fierce hunter has a daring little helper by his side …
Well, that was fun.
But hunting a flightless stuffed ducky can get rather boring. So a change was called for. It was time for a stick up.
The young bandit takes the old girl in his hands and declares,
But then in a bizarre twist of fate, he hands Mommy the gun and orders,
Just as an aside (be warned, my asides have been known to grow to Neanderthal proportions) have I ever mentioned how much of a BOY my fourth boy is? When he first took this new gun in his hands he stood in a stance reminiscent of Rambo, legs at a sturdy shoulder width apart, his gun clasped in both hands diagonally across his chest, a snarl on his lips. And when he holds a gun or a sword or the Wii nun-chucks for boxing he speaks the toughest words he can think of in his manliest gruffest voice. He also frequently does daring (read: stupid) stunts and then shouts, “Mommy, check it!” Oh the ER visits that await us with this one….
Back to the show…
But does the little victim of the stick-up go down that easy? Not on your life.
He falls in a very dramatic way.
And then he rolls over and just for effect and to make sure that I know he’s really dead he reiterates…
And then we tucked them all in bed.