When I was a little girl, my dad had a gunsmithing license.  He created his own guns, restored antiques, and repaired broken ones for other people.  We had dozens (if not hundreds) of guns in our home at any given time, and he knew he needed to teach my brother and I how to use them for our own safety.  Brian and I both became super-fantastically awesome sharpshooters.  This skill came in really handy for my brother, who grew up to be a prison guard with legendary marksmanship even amongst his highly trained colleagues.  In my case, my skills are largely useless since I have no intention of killing anything.   I have bragged about it, though, to my kids over the years during my lame attempts to be “cool.”  They have never really believed me.

Today I had the opportunity to prove myself.  The kids have been shooting guns with Dad for several days but I wasn’t interested in giving it a go myself — which further had the kids (especially Isabella) convinced I was full of baloney and didn’t want to shoot because I wasn’t able to shoot.  This afternoon I went with everybody.  And I hit that target — dead center — on my first shot.  I turned around to look at Isabella and I will cherish her expression for the rest of my life … she was amazed, chagrined, and grudgingly impressed.    “Well,” she finally grumbled, “You probably just got lucky.”

Turns out she was right.  I missed the next couple of shots, and then Dad took the gun and missed all his shots, too.  (He NEVER misses.)  “The sights are off on this one.  I need to work on it some more,” he declared and pulled out another gun.  He handed it to me and said, “Try this one.”

Bullseye!!  So I redeemed myself with the accurate gun.  The kids had to admit that I’m good at something cool.  And that made becoming a super-fantastically awesome sharpshooter when I was a girl worth it.  I had to wait 30 years for it to come in handy, but it finally did.  Yessssss!

Proof I shot the gun. You can’t see the target. But as my dad says, “Shooting is a participation sport, not a spectator sport.”

Tea Party ad. Don’t worry, folks. We’re still Democrats! (Democrats with good aim.)

Josie demonstrating to Holden that, yes, indeed she DID hit the old medicine bottle.

“Ok, fine. You’re good, too.”

Concentration!

“I’m totally gonna get that tin can.”

Meanwhile, Josie is still living in the pig pen.  We’ve been feeding them scraps from our meals and they’ve become incredibly tame, not to mention gluttonous.  All those “eats like a pig” type insults and comments make a lot of sense in a real way now, and not just as turns of phrase.

Pigs will go to great lengths to get at food. In this case, prophylactic yogurt to cure a bad case of diarrhea in Spotsey and prevent it in Waddles.

Josie with her babies.  She spends hours each day doing this.

Adam has been getting in on the gun fun.  Some lousy pictures from my iPad, since I don’t know how to work the Leica.

“Redneck skeet shooting,” in which Dad throws tin cans in the air and Adam blasts them out of the sky.

Sunday:

Josie’s day begins with pig breakfast.  She is in love with those little girls.

Saturday afternoon Isabella created a treasure hunt for my parents.  The big “prize” at the end was one of my shoes (not even a whole pair!) and an empty bottle of sunscreen.  My parents decided to create a treasure hunt for the kids on Sunday morning with a little better prize at the end:  cash.

Giving out the first clue and establishing the rules.

Off to find the clue hidden inside “the yellow beast.”

Isabella continues to spend hours each day practicing archery.  She is so interested that Adam spent some time researching archery clubs/lessons and found a place near our house in Georgia.  We’ll sign her up when we get back.

The collection of holes in the yellow zone is growing!

Holden is also learning some of the finer points of large machinery operation.  He thinks this is super cool.

Holden learning to work the back hoe.

Monday:

Now we have to face the fact we’re leaving tomorrow morning.  Today is pretty much filled up with chores; laundry, trying to find all our stuff that was once neatly packed and is now scattered over my parent’s property, and trying to remember how we tetris-fitted all our luggage into our car.

Josie is having a hard time coming to grips with leaving her pigs, which has led to some philosophical talks about the concept of “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”  She’s OK with it today, but I dread the torrent of grief tomorrow.  It will be worth it, though.  She’ll cherish the memories of her “Summer of the Pigs” long after the pigs are gone.

Tomorrow:  Seattle!!