The things we do for our children

Because Lynae is old enough and it would be good for her, we signed up for firearm safety class last night. Toby is taking it with us. Oh my gosh, was I outside of my comfort zone!

The class was held at the school I used to attend. It's been completely rebuilt, but I recognized many of the teachers' names on the classroom doors. When we walked in, I knew four of the dads and one of the instructors.

We were in the library, which was hot and stuffy. My face and ears were red and hot for most of the 2½ hours. I knew I was in over my head when they told us we'd have to memorize the 10 commandments of gun safety, and if we got them wrong on the test we'd be writing them 25 times each. Oh, my sieve-like brain! Oh, the hand cramp I'm in for! And it gets worse... the field test involves a fence and a deer stand... what was I thinking?! And that's not all -- the parents are invited to watch the field test... I'll be able to embarrass myself in front of even more people!!

I spent way too much time wondering how I could drop out without disappointing my kids.

Then we split up into groups and learned about several different guns. I was in a group with several pre-teen boys who knew pretty much everything there was to know about these guns. I tried really hard to play it cool, but then one of the dads I knew came over to watch his son and me talking about one of the rifles... I'm so thankful I didn't choke or knock over a bunch of books or something. That would've been par for the course.

I own a rifle. I know how to use it. I'm totally capable of passing this class. Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I'll believe it. Toby does already. Isn't that sweet? He has no idea how socially impaired his mother really is.

In other news, it's snowing. Here's how it looked about an inch ago.