I have been wanting to write this post for a long time but I have been a wee bit hesitant.

This would be why I am posting it on a weekend.

I’m sneaky like that.

Grin.

Today’s topic is guns and keeping them in your house when you have children.

I know this will surprise the people who know me and who read this blog regularly but I AM TORN ON THIS ISSUE.

(See! Loralee is torn on something! SHOCKING, IS IT NOT?!!!)

When I met with Valerie Jarrett at the White House, I told her that I had recently switched parties. After asking my very conservative husband how he was coping with it, she asked me how being a new Democrat was going for me.

I responded in true “Loralee” fashion.

“Well… think I may like guns too much and not love the earth enough to be a Democrat, but so far I am digging it!”

She laughed. :)

Here is the thing.

I like guns.

It would be way more comfortable and PC for me to hide this fact as most of my blog readers are likely overwhelmingly anti-gun, but it’s who I am and I’ve always used this blog as a way to write my way through my feelings about different situations.

And I have a situation. And it’s not one that will get solved today but I tested this topic out on Facebook awhile back and it was a positive thing that enabled some changes, so we’ll see what happens here. (Though this is a WAY bigger stage than my Facebook account. Gulp.)

But yup…I like guns.

I like looking at them. As clearly illustrated below, I think men who can use them in a responsible (ie: non “Rambo Asshole”) way automatically make them more attractive to me. (So does a uniform, but THAT is a story for another day, my friends.)

I like shooting them. (In a range. I don’t hunt.)

Big and small…doesn’t matter.

It’s fun for me.

I may totally regret posting photos with me and guns but what the heck…I’m not ashamed of it. Also, I’ve talked about my girl bits so much online this week I might as well just go for it.

My husband likes guns even more than I do. (As in way, WAY more.)

Note the bullet shells as earplugs.

We are such dorks.

When he makes a purchase he spends hours researching and picking out and hemming and hawing and making sure that the guns he buys are just what he wants. He has taken a ton of training and gotten all special licensed n’ stuff. I even sent him to Nevada to complete a totally intensive tactical course.

He had a blast.

And he bought a gun.

And then added another to the collection.

And another.

And well…

Here is the thing.

I don’t like having them in my house.

I just don’t.

Reason why?

My kids.

My son, Matthew.

He died, see.

And because of that, I know that the very worst, and most unimaginable thing that you can think of can and DOES happen.

No matter how careful you are.

I know that in the blink of an eye things too horrific to believe can happen that you can never, ever take back.

(I can’t tell you how awesome this has been for getting a good night’s sleep, people.)

I am a FIRM believer in education about gun safety and teaching kids the ins and outs of a weapon and to respect it. And though he argued the nullification of protecting the home (yeah, because we live in such a vicious crime ridden area here amongst the cows) I was freaking THE HELL OUT until Jon bought a gun safe, but we have one of those.  Unless you are, oh, a cop or the like with massive training on them, I just don’t think using guns as a means of defense is the best idea. I think more accidental things occur in situations like that or it gets turned on someone who doesn’t know what they are doing far more than not.

I know I should NEVER use one under ANY KIND of duress.

See, once a very drunk/stoned/high as a kite on something man came stumbling into my kitchen at about 2 am while I was standing in my underwear getting a drink of water at the kitchen sink.

They say there is a “Fight or Flight” response that every human has.

I call bullshit on that because my reaction was neither “Fight” nor “Flight”.

It was more like “Loralee is going to stand here frozen like a deer in headlights while she is raped and murdered”.

I couldn’t even make one sound.

My vocal folds would.not.work.

I couldn’t find the capability to use the instrument that I had spent the better part of my life training, I really don’t think I could have even attempted to THINK about using a gun at that moment. (Again, I know this is a highly individual situation, but still…)

I just worry.

I worry about my kids. I worry about accidents. I worry about the sheer stupidity. While we aren’t an angry household, I can’t help but think of all the stories where someone lost there temper and… I worry about having to tell the parents of children coming to my home that we have firearms here (though truthfully, it probably wouldn’t be too much of a problem here), I worry about kids that are more curious and less knowledgeable than my children are.

And…deep, deep, DEEP breath here…

I worry a tiny little bit about me.

Well, my past really.

But still…

When I was suicidal after the death of my son, I thought about trying to find a gun. If I had found one, no gastric bypass would have saved me. My worry may seem (and very well may BE over blown here. Do I think I will ever go back to that hellish place ever, EVER again?

No.

But.

When you have fallen that hard and been that close to dying?

You tend to be uber cautious because you never, never, never, never want to go back there.

Ever.

(And no. I am not unstable in the least. IN THE LEAST. So, please don’t see this as some ominous sign.)

But my husband really loves them. He feels strongly that we have them here so he can protect his home. He wants our kids to grow up around them. And like I said, I really like them a whole bunch.

Still…

There are guns.

In my house.

And I am not sure I will ever be comfortable with it.

First things first:

May I start by saying that the day after filming and meeting Sheila and Ree and the crew,  I broke out in a horrible cold sore on my lip so I was very grateful for the timing of this trip as nothing quite says “GET TO KNOW ME!” like herpes.

And…

There are eleventyhundred photos in this post, so I am taking advantage of the “read more’ button.  (Also, you can look at my Flickr set here for more photos).

And, and…

Let’s get the 2 things I know  you want to know the very most out of the way. Continue reading →

I got back from Oklahoma late Saturday night. I wanted to post my recap today but I have been fighting a splitting, blinding headache all day and have piles of laundry and cleaning still left to catch up on. And really–I just wanted to spend the day and evening loving on my kiddies and husband (and especially nom, nom, nom on the fat folds of my sweet little baby Butterlump’s neck) and recover from the whirlwind it all was.

I know not all of you care about the trip but I know some of you are dying to know what it was like and I didn’t want to leave you hanging here. Because I have the best readers, ever. Truly…you are the best. THE BEST. You’re wonderful, pretty and smell like fresh line dried sheets and are better than just baked apple pie. :)

So, tune in tomorrow (Tuesday) to find out the following:

What did I go there to do again, exactly? And how can we all be involved in it again????

Why the holy freak am I dressed like this and who made me spend half of the day being filmed in it? (I’m wearing red, fuzzy socks. Which makes it so much more stunning, really.)

What is “The Ranch” like?

Which of this group lost their luggage? (Hint: It is not me. Despite looking very much like I whored myself out on the street corner for random pieces of clothing.)

What exactly IS an “Oklahoma Rooster”?

Which of us was three hours late because she missed her flight and was thus dubbed, ‘McLatePants”?

What on earth is a “Cow-tillion” and why is it THE BEST IDEA EVER?

And last (but certainly not least)…IS the Marlboro Man REALLY as much of a hottie as you think he is going to be? (Hint: OH, HECK YES HE IS. FOR REALS. PINKY SWEAR. Said in the most respectful and non-creepy way possible, of course. :) )

Later, y’all!