So Jon and I went to the range. I initially suggested we spend our day together mini-golfing, but Jon turned up his nose a bit at that. I suggested we go skeet shooting instead. Did you know that shotguns are really heavy?
We headed up to the local rod and gun club with 125 rounds of 20-gauge ammo and several boxes of neon orange pucks – also known as clay pigeons (please note, no feathered rats were harmed in the day’s activity).
Did you know when you successfully make contact the orange puck disintegrates into a billion little smithereens. It was a blast! (Haha – see what I did there?) It’s a tricky game. I missed the first few shots before learning you’re not actually supposed to watch the bird hurtle through the air. You need to stare the bugger down via the teeny tiny little sight on the end of the gun. And pull. Blammo.
I finished the afternoon 12 for 12. Kerplow. Kaboom. I rule. I did not shoot the sherrif.
As we drove down the windy mountain road back to reality, Jon turned to me and said, “It really has been forever since we had a day – just the two of us together.” I smiled at my sweetheart. “And this is what you chose.” He laughed.
Technically, I chose putt-putt. But I got rejected. “I wouldn’t have said no to a spa day.”
He tells me this now?!
After washing the lead dust from my pants and underneath my fingernails, we set out again. This time to pick up our little muppets from daycare.
The boys had just completed their first art project! I haven’t actually seen the masterpieces. But I did see photos of the projects. (Consider this a tease – I haven’t yet managed to get my hands on them, so just trust me on their awesomeness.)
Fingerpainting. In the hands of toddlers, this art is a beautiful violence.
Search was “neat and tidy.” He chose green paint, carefully smearing it in circles on his paper. According to the 2×2 photoscreen of evidence, my little man was seriously focused on the task at hand. Destroy was a bit “freer” with the project. Using red paint, the paper canvas was not nearly as constraining to him. He rather resembled the Joker from Batman – a red grin literally painted across his round little face.
This morning we had a playdate. We headed off to see our friends for fun with cars, trucks and coffee. Then, as if in slow motion, Search reached forward and grabbed the mug out from under me. Drenched in coffee. Just like a typical day at work.
(For all those not batting an eye at my continued klutziness, but extraordinarily concerned about the well being of a little muppet covered in coffee: I really drink more coffee-flavored milk. Since the mug was so heavily diluted by ice-cold milk and sugar it was, at best, luke-warm. Not to mention the liquid soaked me before merely dripping onto his big boy shoes.)
The lines between my life and theirs are officially blurred.