Ah, Monday. What a dick this day is.
Internets, I don’t mind telling you that I had a rather lovely and restful weekend. On Saturday morning, we took the baby to tee-ball and were happy to sit in some shaded bleachers. The moms in front of us provided the entertainment by talking in hushed tones about their psychic, who told one mom that she saw a flooded basement in the future. There was much gasping when that mom revealed that not six weeks later, there was some heavy rain (in Pittsburgh of all places!) and her brother’s girlfriend’s roommate’s dog’s basement flooded. Freaky, right?
After tee-ball, the husband went to work and the baby and I pretty much just relaxed the rest of the day. We put in some quality time with the Wii.
When the husband came home from work, we walked to the main boulevard. We passed some honeysuckle and the smell was intoxicating. The husband helped me to drink a drop of honeysuckle water and I finally believed that summer was here. We stopped into the state store so that I could gather the materials necessary to quench my craving for chilled white wine. Then we got some ice cream and practically skipped home, it was all so la-di-da.
Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed and rustled the family together. We go to the tee-ball field and were dismayed to see that no one was there. Alas, it was Junior Pirates day at PNC Park. But we had no desire to sit at the ballpark on a 90+ degree day, so we just went home. We ate some breakfast on the porch and just sat out there for a few hours, reading and enjoying the lovely day. Later, we went over to my mother-in-law’s house where I spent at least 3 hours drifting around on a raft in the pool. And I didn’t even get sunburned.
I love summer.
Turistas was just rather stupid, I fell asleep halfway through Black Snake Moan but what I saw of it was pretty meh. It also made me want to take a shower really badly. An American Crime was complicated. I felt that the way the story was presented, with the victim as the first-person, posthumous, omniscient narrator was tacky. Of course, Ellen Page and Catherine Keener are amazing no matter what they do and it was a very blunt way of showing how abuse can turn even its victims into monsters, thus continuing the cycle, but that often the people who say nothing in a situation like that are almost as disgusting as the abusers themselves. Obviously, since it was based on a true story, it was really depressing and there were more than a few moments where I had to emotionally distance myself from what I was watching. Otherwise, I would have had some kind of breakdown.
Ahem. Anyway. On Wednesday, the baby will finish up kindergarten and I will officially be the mother of a first-grader. Oh my holy hell.