Figured I'd better post about my last weekend before the next one jumps out of the shadows at me. They seem to come fast and furious these days.
I can feel hair on my chest growing from my last weekend. It was a testosterone weekend, starting with movie night on Friday. Every Friday we have family movie night. We've just finished watching the Indian Jones trilogy - again - in order - to get ready for the newest one coming out this month. Nothing too manly about that, but as hubby was putting down the Lost Temple or whatever it was, he slapped down 3:10 to Yuma next to it.
"Why'd you get that?" I ask in disbelief.
"So we can watch it tomorrow night," Hubby replied.
"But," I say, trying to conjure the word, "It's a western."
I hate westerns. My dad watched everything John Wayne made. And Clint Eastwood. And this did not make my heart grow fond of the genre.
"Can't I just stick Texas Chainsaw Massacre in my computer and use my earphones?" I whine. "I'll still sit next to you on the couch."
"No!" He puts his foot down. "After two decades of watching all the crap you've dragged me to, I'm making you watch this movie!"
He says this with love. And he does have a point.
I can't help it that I love horror movies. Not so much psychopathic killers, but give me a werewolf or a vampire, and you have my rapt attention for a good hour and twenty minutes. After all, it takes true love to sit through Species with someone. Yes, it's my terrible character flaw.
So I acted like an adult, and watched the movie. It was actually a great movie, and I highly recommend it. I don't think it was because my brain was fried from seven hours of sitting at the baseball park cheering on the boys. (can't wait til the girls also have activities. I will be able to fill my entire weekend with kid activities, like a bingo card.) I came out of that unscathed except for the racoon tan I am sporting on my face that even foundation can't quite rectify and one sunburnt foot.
Sunday we found an airshow happening at March Air Reserve Base. The kids and hubby toured a few big tin cans with wings (kidding) and we watched the Thunderbirds perform. Not the best place for a sensitive, crabby baby, but Sophia survived the festivities and loud engine noises.
So, baseball, a western and an airshow. I'm ready for some Mother's Day breakfast in bed. Hint hint.