The Well-Armed Women

We wake every morning and turn off the home security systems, fast forward through last night’s video footage for signs of burglars, vagrants, sex traffickers, pedophiles, serial killers. Once, Sharee recorded her neighbor stealing cigarette butts out of the ashtray on the porch. He took long drags from each one and stared into the window where she and her husband were fast asleep. Once, Casey recorded a group of teenagers, not from our neighborhood, jiggling the door handles on our cars. We always lock our cars. We always keep our valuables out of sight.

Last night’s footage revealed a raccoon staggering in and out of view over the course of six hours. It may be rabid, and one bite would be all it takes. We consulted the Oakview Moms Club Facebook page about where to report it. Kimmie suggested we report it to animal control. Aimee said report it to the village police department. We decided to call both. We will drop off cookies as a thank you.

We get our children out of bed and feed them cereal in shatterproof bowls. Their sleepy eyes blink aside grains of night dust, irises focusing on nothing and everything. We touch our children by pretending to tame stray hairs on their bed heads. After breakfast, it’s time to get dressed. They complain about having to wear the bulletproof hoodies with detachable Kevlar vest for convenient washing, pre-ordered with this year’s school supplies, but we insist. We cannot be too careful. We help them lift the ergonomic bulletproof backpacks, available in pink, blue or gray, onto their shoulders, and place the Level IIIA ballistic helmets on top of their heads. Now the children are ready to get into the cars with their side passenger airbags, inflatable safety belts, and active head restraints to keep them safe in the event of a crash; most crashes happen within a mile of home. Some children still ride the bus to school, and, yes, the buses are equipped with safety belts and a volunteer armed security guard, but they don’t contain active head restraints. This a concern we have registered with the school board.

We are, of course, armed ourselves. The Sig 238 is making a strong showing this year, but the Glock 43 remains at the number one spot on the club survey. Both are small enough to fit comfortably into a woman’s hand, with a sleek and simple design and buttery slide action. We slip the weapons into the holsters of our Big Gypsy Concealed Carry Totes made of American cowhide in blue pebble grain and featuring a generous compartment ample enough to fit a laptop, iPad, first aid kit, water bottle, workout clothes, umbrella, makeup kit, baby wipes, hand sanitizer, and organic granola bars. The front outside zippered pocket is convenient for phones, flashlights, and pepper spray. If it’s chilly, we can throw on the fun and flowy Patriotic Poncho that also lends itself to the concealed carry option, available at the Well-Armed Woman website. Five dollars from every purchase goes to Oakview Elementary School.

On the way to school we are watchful, because who knows what dangers will jump out from behind the post of the Little Free Library or out of the row of azalea bushes that line Main Street. We are stressed out of our minds. We are exhausted from checking for intruders periodically throughout the night. But the drop-off circle is where all must remain vigilant. We are armed to the teeth. There is always confusion, especially the first week of school, but no one will be late for the active shooter drill if we all follow the rules. We are our children’s best example of what it looks like to live in a civil and safe society.

Car doors fly open. Hurry, hurry, we tell the children, the line is backed up. Some run toward the building where they jostle each other to be first through the metal detector. Others hesitate at the curb, gazing at us with strained smiles and anxious eyes. We wave frantically and pull away, careful not to let them see us cry, as they may interpret this as a lack of faith in the metal detector, armed guards, active shooter drills, and the school’s state-of-the-art lockdown security system. We drive to Pure Barre and sweat out our fears in a total body workout that targets, shapes, and defines all major muscle groups. We make a stop on the way home for matcha tea lattes and a quick trip to Fresh Market for Hass avocados and bouquets of alstroemeria.

At home, we cut flower stems under cool running water. We place them in vases that decorate our dining room tables. We walk our leashed dogs and put their waste into provided receptacles. We spread avocado on toast and peel clementines. We prep dinners that consist of balanced food groups. We join meal trains, craft jewelry, practice yoga, attend fundraisers, order makeup made of natural ingredients. We do anything to avoid thinking about our children, in a school where we are not, where the most terrible thing that has happened is an allergic reaction to store-bought brownies in Mrs. Schofield’s first-grade classroom. We do not ruminate on the tsunami of grief that engulfs us when we count the many ways a child can be swept out of reach. We do not dwell on our children’s delicate bone structure, the way their mouths can form a perfect “o,” or how a bullet can shatter a cheekbone into a hundred pieces and leave nothing identifiable in its wake.