What I failed to tell you last week was that Patrick was working nights. I hate being home alone (well, alone with Madi and Bella) after dark. I slept on the couch with a pirate-looking knife under my pillow. That blade is ten inches long, curved, rusty, and as dull as Jessica Simpson on Newlyweds. I figure if I don't stop the intruder with just the intimidation factor of the crazy lady with the rusty pirate knife, maybe the tetanus he contracts from the scratches I'm able to give him will kick in before he's able to do any serious damage.
And if that doesn't work, the shotgun Patrick insisted on reminding me how to operate just might work in a pinch.
Speaking of that tutorial, I do believe I've passed my wariness of firearms onto our daughter. Just before Pat left for his first night of work, he was showing me (again) how to load the shotgun. Poor Madison was laying on our bed watching the lesson her daddy was giving me. He opened the chamber thingy (I was paying really close attention), put in the shell (at least I think that's what you call it), then did that scary cocking thing that makes that noise (ka-chicka). That's when Madison started screaming. She didn't stop until probably five minutes after Pat left.
I don't think she'll make a very good hunting companion for Pat. And that (sorry, honey) is a-okay with me.
Do you hate being alone at night? Are you more afraid of your own guns than you are of a potential intruder? Do you (not so) secretly hope for your baby to share your irrational fear of firearms?