Stepmom of the year

Since we have 14 year old boys here, we have throwing stars. And throwing knives. All the good stuff. Trouble is, they throw these things at the fence. Fences being made of wood, and the boys not quite being ninjas, the knives and throwing stars bounce back.

This, it seemed to me, was a laceration waiting to happen. A laceration that would, without a doubt, be timed so as to interfere with either my obsessive watching of CNN, my beer drinking, or both.

And that cannot be allowed to happen.

So Girl Child and I went to the range and shot up half of the .22lr in north Texas. We also purchased a couple of extra targets. Then we stopped at Home Despot and picked up some foam board, which we proceeded to hack apart in the parking lot so it would fit in El Jeepo.

Brought it home, added some thumbtacks, and...voila!



Number Two Son discovers that these throwing stars work much better when throw them at something they'll stick in.

(A note - the monikers "Number One Son" and "Number Two Son" infer no preference or order of merit. It's a seniority issue. Number One Son is eight minutes older than Number Two.)