While I was away last week, my in-laws came down to watch the kids and brought with them a bevvy of gifts, including the mother lode of shitty candy, a couple of porcelain ballerina dolls for Quinlan and a Mac truck for Drew, all of which they'd sleep with if we'd let them.
And a gun.
Okay, so it was a springloaded, foam rocket shooting gun. But still. For all intents and purposes, it's a gun.
Now I'm not completely averse to all things that shoot. Just ask my husband. (heh).
But when it comes to guns and kids, regardless of whether they're full of water, foam, or whatever else they make these days, I'm just not down with it.
Granted, my kids have stolen a teeny mini water gun from our neighborhood pool that ended up in our bathtub that ended up shooting me in the eye with water that ended up in the trash.
And I bought them animal shaped squirters on clearance from Babies R Us. Maybe I'm in denial by calling them "squirters" when they're really just guns dressed up like drunk farm animals, but since I'm really the only one who can squirt them and they have cross eyes for God sakes, I have deemed them "bath toys" and gone on my merry way.
But when I innocently loaded up this rocket gun and stupidly let my son shoot it, I was pissed. Not only because the thing took all my energy to load, but because when he shot it, the damn rocket made a mark on my ceiling.
I can only imagine how that thing would feel had it hit my thigh, or Margot's head.
So when Drew wasn't looking, I snatched up his little rocket gun, mumbled something about "fucking guns your in-laws damnit stupid ass toys" to my husband, and tossed it right in the trash.
Because guess what? In my house, there is no 2nd amendment, thank you very much.
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