Wow, I'm bossy, huh?
Post Script: This is Eric, Ali's less funny, much less talented husband with a mind for toddler investigative reporting. When not exposing restaurants with below average health scores, I am digging deeper to find the explanation for my nascent gunman's new found obsession with firearms. This is literally Ali's worst nightmare: a gun-toting toddler who whines if you move while he is aiming. While wiping away tears... "No! Move back so I can shoot you!" The truth is that Miles was never on the grassy knoll and never supported the senile Charlton Heston. This is actually Mercer Mayer's worst nightmare. Sometime after the alligator was locked in the garage, Mayer's proverbial first-born had to fend off the frightening denizen of everyone's closet. His room was only equipped with a big wheel, a four-star general's helmet, and an open window, so the pop gun looked pretty appealing when fighting an eight-foot beast of the night. "POP!" He felt bad, but not too bad. Miles is no longer wandering the halls, library, and cafeteria adorned in a semi-automatic rifle-hiding trench coat, but has now morphed into the literal (literary) sheriff of our dreams. I can now go back to harassing the squirrels.
Synopsis for those who don't think like my husband: Miles got the gun shtick from this book...one on our bookshelf that we read with frequency (d'oh!).
Image courtesy of the Carle Museum
Next? Part 3: the sage responses! Stay tuned...