I married a five year old

An orange foreign object wizzes overhead, dangerously close to hitting me. I look around for the source of the dart and sigh. My husband is standing in the door way like an assailant ready for battle. His weapon, he grasps in his grimy hands and although its length is foreboding, at least two feet long, it is made of orange and blue plastic. His ammunition, orange nerf bullets. That's right, my twenty-five year old HUSBAND has a nerf gun, and if he likes you expect to be shot!

How did Kyle obtain a nerf gun you may ask? Was it an antique from our childhood? Sadly, the answer is no. He bought it recently as a early Christmas gift for himself.

Swiggle swiggle swiggle (enter the sounds of chimes as we travel to the past)

Walking through Walmart looking for a vacuum band for my grandmother's vacuum cleaner, I turn around and see no one standing near me. I inhale deeply grasping that I have lost my husband. His disappearance can only mean one thing; he has found the toy department. I cross my arms as he sheepishly runs towards me, smiling like a puppy who has just peed on the carpet but is acting overly sweet to mask the smell. Under his arm, is a box half my size.
"Please??!!" he pleads looking up at me in that adorable way he knows I can't say no to. But I am stronger than he has anticipated.
"Are we five now? Kyle, if you want that, ask for it for Christmas! We came to buy something for a vacuum cleaner, not a toy" I say determinedly crossing my arms to punctuate the point.
"But this is an awesome deal. I have been looking for these online, and this is $15 cheaper than any other I have found. Plus it has an extra barrel for when you run out of nerfs, so you don't have to stop and reload. Come on Vanessa. It will be an early Christmas present. You aren't going to find another deal like this!" he says as he walks towards the front of the store, grasping the box tightly, afraid I might tear it from his bear like grip.

What was I to say? I am weak and give in to so many of his whims. It must have been so difficult to say no to him as a child. His pleading smile is well practiced at melting the most ferocious heart to an icy puddle which can only respond with "yes."

As we were walking to the front, we saw a boy who couldn't have been older than seven carrying the same gun, mirroring the excitement worn on Kyle's face. Oh the irony.

After the first attack, it was determined (by my mom) that someone else must have a weapon to fight off the onslaught of orange nerf bullets effectively.

The first battle was between my mom and Kyle. When it ended, nerfs covered every inch of the house. I, however, will never erase the image of my mom carrying the blue and orange gun on the prowl to attack her son in law. Way to go MOM!

The next battle, was between my aunt Nancy and Kyle. This, however, was not a fair match, as Kyle has the skills of a lion stalking it's prey. He is as quiet as a slithering snake and as quick and accurate as a Cherokee warrior. Nancy on the other hand, laughed the entire time, giving away her position, and her shot... well, let's just say, she needs practice.

There were a few other battles in between, but the most epic of them all occured Thanksgiving day. Unbeknownst to me, Kyle had already purchased several nerf guns before my arrival back in the states. When I asked why he needed another one, his response was, "I wanted a better one." Arrggg... boys! Two others plus a blow gun emerged from the wreckage which is our garage. Thanksgiving day, we spent with my BFF's (Leslie's) family who we consider to be our family. The fight began originally between Leslie's cousin Bella and Kyle. (Do you see the pattern, they all start with Kyle, the pacifist.) Kyle's excuse for the beginnings of the war was that he only wanted to entertain Bella, who was eight and exhibiting boredom signs: it had nothing to do with his own five-year old attention span. Leslie's sister and friend entered the fight as well as Leslie and Leslie's husband. The war raged for over an hour upstairs, and down, behind the couch and between the banisters. In ever corner lay either a gun man or a collector (of nerfs for reloading). It was the war of wars , culminating in a battle between the sexes in which the better sex won. I don't need to explain which that is. It was one of the best Thanksgiving events of my lifetime and in my snow-globe of memories, that is one I will cradle carefully. Thank goodness for my five year old husband!

We exhausted QT with the battle. He looked on condescendingly!