Never too Young to Learn

So. I was wearing my pistol around the house on Saturday while trying out a different holster. (And holster choice is a post for another day …) I said to Sweet Daughter, “Did you notice I’m wearing a gun today?”

Somewhat surprised, she replied “No, mommy.”

“Did you know that sometimes Daddy wears a gun when we go shopping?”

“No ….”

“Why do you think Daddy wears a gun sometimes?”

“In case the Big Bad Wolf shows up.”

“Right. Why else?”

“In case a bad guy shows up WITH the Big Bad Wolf.” (Close enough for a four-year-old. The Big Bad Wolf is the epitome of evil in her world.)

Not only do you not know he’s wearing a gun, nobody else knows, either. When we’re wearing guns, we’re happy to answer any questions you have, but only when there aren’t any strangers around. Did you know that some people don’t like guns?”

“Why not?” she asked, with a look of disbelief. (I swear I am not making this up.) “Don’t they know guns save lives?” (She must really, really like the bumper sticker.)

“Some people are scared of guns.” (Still getting the puzzled look.) “Can a gun hurt you if it’s sitting on the table?”

(She laughs like I’ve lost my mind …) “No!”

“That’s right.* What if it’s in a holster?”

“No!”

“When can a gun hurt you?”

“If a bad guy picks it up and points it at you and shoots!”

“Some guns can go off if you drop them, but not this one. Do you want to see it?” (Thanks, Cornered Cat!!)

So I show her how I check the weapon to make sure it’s empty, and I show her the grip and trigger safeties. (“Mommy, is that a trigger shoe?”) She asked if she could hold it. I handed it to her, and she IMMEDIATELY turned so that it was pointing towards the wall I use when practicing magazine drills.

“Mommy – we practice shoot this way where it’s safe!”

We don’t discuss firearms much in general conversation at our house. We don’t go to the range nearly as often as we should, or would like to. Sweet Daughter isn’t drilled on the four rules, or made to genuflect towards Ogden, UT, before bedtime. She just picks this stuff up. Don’t ever underestimate your kids. They do listen to what you say, and your actions speak just as loud. Making sure I’m setting a good example for Sweet Daughter makes me a better gun owner, and that makes me a better citizen.


* Not unless your cat has it out for you.

Randomness

Sweet Daughter asked “What’s ‘unconscious’ mean?” (We were watching The Incredibles. If you haven’t seen it, remedy the situation tout de suite.) I gave her my version, and Shorter Half gave his. I liked her four-year-old summary better.

“So, it's like being killed, but not to death.”


In other non-news, here' are a couple of a pictures to go with this post.

How it started.

I’m not a gun crank. I don’t have to be; I’m married to one. However, when Sweet Daughter had a special request for her fourth birthday, I ventured over to Jay G’s blog to see if he, as another gun crank and a dad, had another perspective to add. I’d been lurking for a while and he and his legions of followers seemed really newbie-friendly. Not only did I get some wonderful advice, I got amazing positive feedback. I’m still gobsmacked.

Go here to see where it all began, and here for the follow-up.

The Cast of Characters

Well, there’s me, Nancy. Middle-aged mother to 4 year-old Sweet Daughter, and married to my Shorter Half. (Yes, I'm 6' tall, Rick's not.) I work full time due to necessity as I happen to like living in a house with heat and having food on the table. Hobbies include 18th century living history and the detritus that goes with it, and things that go boom.

Shorter Half, a.k.a. Rick R. Gun/Military/History Geek with ADD. I have never, not once, asked him a question in any of these areas that he couldn’t answer. Once or twice he’s felt the need to fact check an answer, but the Geek button is always on. Always. Oh, and he likes bacon. A lot. This is the man, who while we were in line at a Wendy's, mused out loud as he gazed at the menu, "I don't know if I want chicken or if I want meat." I replied, "Honey, in some cultures chicken IS meat."


Sweet daughter, Susan. Brilliant, kind, silly sense of humor and an absolute joy. Mother’s are supposed to be biased. Get over it.

Projects

I’ve got a big box of projects sitting next to my chair. The deal is that if I’m going to be sitting in front of the TV, I have to be doing something useful. Last year, in the space of about 9 months, I accomplished a lot. Since July … not so much. Those 9 months yielded 8 pairs of 18th century knit mittens, a wool bedgown, a black silk bonnet, a cambric shirt, two gowns for Sweet Daughter, a matalesse petticoat, aprons, assorted bags and hemmed linens, refitting the bodice on two of my gowns, a new chintz round gown, a linen waistcoat drafting patterns, assembling garments for others to finish, and a pair of stays (sans binding), among other things. Since then, I’ve been trying to get motivated. Somebody kidnapped my sewing muse and I want her back. With my luck, Ms. Muse has Stockholm Syndrome and I’ll never see her again.

So it begins.

I've had three people tell me I should start a blog -- not that that's an overwhelming large sample of my acquaintance from which to draw. One was a family member that I don't have as much contact with as I'd like, one is a close friend that I don't see often enough, and one couldn't pick me out of a police line-up. He did use a letter of mine in his blog though, and that's when I starting to consider sipping the Kool-Aid.