Little Tiny Arms… Great Big Guns

So, I talked Hubs into taking Edinor with him out to the gun range the last time he had training.

I was supposed to go, too, but alas, I had the children that day, so it was a no-go. Darn. Husband keeps thinking if I spend more time out there, I won’t flinch like a giant baby when I look at his duty weapon. Ha! Little does he know, the pansy is fierce in this one. (Actually, we’ve been together for sixteen years in a month or so, so I think he’s seen the light. He is the mighty protector. I, uh, am not.)

In any case, I find it amusing that Husband has no qualms about taking a stuffed Tyrannosaur out to the gun range and snapping pictures, but he refused to have her wear bling. Tiny daughter and Husband are ganging up on me, I think. What’s with this lack of bling? And why shouldn’t a stuffed Tyrannosaur be bedecked in jewels? I’d want to be fully blinged if I were a stuffed Tyrannosaur that paraded around in a dress. After all, they have big heads and small arms. They have to compensate for that somehow, right?

Um, yeah.I don’t know where that came from, either.

So, without further ado, a series of pictures I’ll call: Little arms. Big Guns.

It

It’s almost as if she’s saying, “Nuuuh, nuuuh. Darn it, I can’t reach!”

(And no, Hubs is not as shameless as I am. I would’ve asked the boys to pose with the dinosaur.)

Random Musings–About Me.

Totally meta, I know.

I’m not going to go all deep and philosophical, which I could, because I’ve been contemplating some deep stuff lately.

It’s totally true. I’m capable of deep thoughts, I just don’t engage in them.

So, I’m off from the day job for a bit, which is exciting. I’m currently deep in re-writes of the steam punk, and those are going well. And though I should be thinking about airships and thermite and stuff like that, I’ve been thinking about… nail polish.

(See, I choose not to think deep thoughts)

I only like to paint my toes, and my tastes in polish aren’t subtle. I don’t go for shell pink toes or french pedicures. If I’m going to paint my toenails, it’s going to be some outlandish color. Maybe because this painting of the toenails thing is a new development. After all, I used to work in a place with a no open-toe shoes policy. No sense in painting the toes if you can’t show those puppies off, right?

At first, I painted them hussy red, which was awesome. I wore matching lipstick for a week.

But hussy red is so last year. This year, I’m going even more outrageous.

The first time I painted my toes this year, I went with light blue. A pretty color, but honest to Betsy, it made me look cyanotic. So, um, no. I don’t want to have toes that look like I’m on the verge of a heart attack.

So I bought another color. Bright blue. Awesome. The following week, I painted the toes teal.(The color is technically called Blue s-teal, which is rad. I did lines from Zoolander for two days)

And the color I bought today? Green. Sure, it makes me look like I have the nastiest case of toenail fungus ever, but it’s the most awesome color.

I am so never going back  to red.

The Continuing Adventures of Tyrannosaurus Edinor

It’s true. I have no shame.

A couple of weeks ago, Husband and I took the kids to a Renaissance Faire. Now, I love these things, even if half the women are, shall we say, lacking both adequate clothing and adequate sunscreen. Still, it’s a hoot. (Incidentally, I got myself a really cool, steampunky watch–it’s a necklace encased in clear acrylic, and you can see the gears on the back. Fully awesome. Daughter got herself a compass–again, very steampunk. All I can say is… she is mine. Boy child got another wooden sword. I was pushing for the trebuchet, but what can I say? He says he wants to be a prospector/Viking/king when he grows up. I suppose the sword is a requirement).

In any case, Monk dressed up as a Viking (or, rather, in a peasant outfit and her brother’s Viking helmet) and took her stuffed tyrannosaur. We put Edinor in a dress. I wanted her to wear a necklace, but Monk put her foot down. Apparently, a tyrannosaur wearing a dress and bling is not period appropriate. Whatever, kid.

So, without further ado, the continuing adventures of my daughter’s Tyrannosaur in a dress. Oh, and a few of the kids, for good measure.

The Viking, Edinor, and the Boy talk to the Queen

No, I don’t have any shame. Why?