Our day has been a day.
Hubs is on vacation.
He’s stay-cationing right now. You know, being on vacation, but staying at home? And so we’ve decided to tackle a few projects.
Or maybe just one.
It’s a retaining wall around our patio. We’d really like one, because we’ve been looking at a crumbling hill which has deteriorated with the wonderment known as erosion, and because it makes us look like the Clampetts living in our neighborhood. So today, Hubs dug and dug with a shovel, until he had to lay down in the nearby grass and fantasize about puking.
I planted flowers, and I broke off every! single! fingernail! that I own. I’ve got all the flowers in pots in Switzerland right now, which means that they’re currently residing on our patio, where the deer have seldom ventured. The patio seems to be the safe zone, but if one of those enormous rats with antlers gets a wild hair tonight and trespasses on the concrete in order to feast on a candy-like dinner of purple petunias and Lobelia, then we will have venison stew for dinner tomorrow night.
I don’t mind telling you that.
The boy was also put to work today. Hubs and I gave him a five-gallon bucket and said, “Fill it. With weeds.”
And, people, he did. Our nine-year-old worked like a strapping teenager today. My heart ached with pride over him, and I wondered where our little boy went; this nine-year-old worked more like a grown-up today. It’s what Hubs and I have been striving for — to teach him to be disciplined in every job that he does, to work faithfully, and to work hard.
And then his buddy Enzo called and said, “Um, can the boy spend the night at my house?” And after a day where the boy sweat like a man, he could. His wardens gave him a twenty-four hour pass card, and he hightailed it off to Enzo’s place at dinnertime tonight.
So Hubs put on some clean clothes, and we had a date.
Of course, Hubs hobbled with back pain on our date, because he’s not a young teenager anymore, and he spent the entire day digging like he was on a chain gang, while I was busy ripping my fingernails off.
We saw The A-Team.
Do you want my official review?
Everything blows up. The end.
Hubs loved it. It’s filled with gunfire, rocket fire, rocket launcher fire, missile fire, and big fires in general. Helicopters explode, airplanes explode, buildings explode, barrels explode, a ship explodes, a dock explodes, train cars explode, trucks explode, and there are just general explosions that are popped off in the middle of nowhere. Everyone has a gun. Everyone gets beat up. Everyone loses their guns. Everyone recovers someone else’s gun. Everyone beats someone up. Everyone who started off as a good guy ends up being a bad guy. Everyone who started as a bad guy turns out to be a good guy.
And Murdock, the crazy helicopter pilot, made me laugh, just like he did years ago, when I was a small fry and we watched The A-Team on our one-channel TV at home. The TV without the remote control. The TV with the KNOB on the front of it, which you had to manually turn, but which didn’t do a lot of good, because there were no other channels to turn it to. Yes, I am old enough that I’ve now seen The Karate Kid completely remade, and The A-Team come to life on the big screen.
Next week, I’m being fitted for dentures and hearing aides, and I’m signing up for polka lessons.
Yes, Murdock is hilarious, but the explosions and all the shooting? I just really wanted to pass on some of it and say, “Where on earth is the romance in this flick?!” This movie had so much fire power and explosions in it, Hubs was overwhelmed, but it held very little for me in the way of a nice, romantic plot.
But, those soldiers of fortune, who exist in the LA underground, are out there somewhere. I have a problem, and no one else can help. And, if I can find them, I’m going to hire The A-Team and put a bounty on the deers’ heads tonight. My flowers will thank me.