Last Monday, Sweet Daughter and I went to the Regional Amusement Park. The good news is that I found some great discount tickets online, and the weather was perfect like only the back side of a hurricane can be. Mid 80’s, sunny, breezy, and no humidity. Not only that, there weren’t any lines. Nada. None. Zilch. Zippo.  The longest we had to wait was for any given attraction to finish its current run and then it was our turn.

The bad news is that they don’t let you go armed. They don’t even let you carry a pocket knife -- although they did let me check it at the front gate so I didn’t have to go back to the car. (Well that, and the fact that none of the roller coasters that SD could ride had enough room for my knees.)

SD wanted to wear matching shirts, and while I’ve always secretly laughed at families that do that, I will admit that there are some distinct advantages. The people running the rides can tell which kid you belong to. If, heaven forbid, you were to get separated, you can point to yourself and say “she was wearing a shirt like this!” But best of all, if you choose wisely, you can influence how you are perceived.  Because nothing says “I’m not a victim, nor am I a threat -- unless you mess with me first” like matching Kalishnikitty shirts.

Oxymoron

In lieu of actual content while we wait for Irene to show up, I present one of the more interesting searches that have shown up in my tiny little corner of the internet:

I mean wouldn't a "milf dog" be a contradiction in terms?

Magazine Maintenance

I won't go into the care a feeding of magazines here, because what do I know about it, anyway other than you need to keep the lint and dirt out of them, and clean them thoroughly from time to time? What I do know is this ... you're supposed to label them. This is so you can tells yours apart from all the rest when shooting with friends. This is so you can narrow it down in case there is one magazine that is causing problems with your firearm.

I hadn't gotten around to it because, well, I don't have that many magazines, and I knew I'd spend way too much time obsessing about some sort of obscure code that would indicate if that mag was for my defensive ammo or my plinking ammo, the date I purchased the it, etc. I'd research the best labeling method, and select the best font for readability. Basically, I was over-thinking the whole thing. Sweet Daughter solved the problem for me today. What do you think?

Two of them sit on the right side of my shoulder rig to balance the weight of the pistol on the other side. Yup. They sit there right along my ribcage, bottoms facing out. So much for staying "low key".

Not like other moms

Sweet Daughter asked me the other day which Disney Princess was my favorite. I’m not thrilled with the idea of “princess” as something to be when one grows up, but I picked Belle, because at least she reads. SD’s favorite? Cinderella.

I said “Cinderella is a perfect example of why you need to finish school and go to college.”

SD: Puzzled look

Me: “If she had a good education she could have a decent paying job, or at least one where she didn’t have to live in the attic and get up before everyone else and be ordered around all day.”

SD: Looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Me, continuing: “She’s a grown-up. Why doesn’t she just leave? See? This is why we have guns. So if a bad guy tells us to do something we don’t want to do, we have choices.

SD: Sighs. “Mamma. I think she chose to stay.”

And this is why other moms probably won’t let her come to our house to play.