Be careful of what you ask, especially when you ask it of my husband repeatedly for three months in a row.   January became February and February became March and then yesterday, April 3rd, I asked one more time.   The next thing I know, I hear the weed eater, I'm pretty sure that was the sound of a pick ax hitting solid stone(?), loud banging, his truck backing up and then slowly pulling forward - as if pulling something from the ground.  Oh heavens, help me.

Suddenly, he walks into the kitchen covered in red clay and black dirt, almost giddy and tells me he's headed to Lowe's for a pulley.  I don't question, I just stand there frozen and smile while nodding my head up and down.  Now, normally, I would have already peeked out the window or even walked out to ask him what he was up to; but, not that afternoon.  No way.  It was the first time in our marriage that I was ever a bit frightened to know what he was doing in our backyard and what he had up his sleeve.  Yep, I was "skeerd".  For the record, that is the first time I've ever used that word lol.

He worked on his project for most of the afternoon and when it was over, he came upstairs, with Ava in tow - both covered in the same red clay and black dirt, with smiles that covered their precious faces ear to ear.   It was time for the big unveiling.  I took a big breath and went down the stairs into the basement and out the garage door to see....a GLADIATOR COURSE.

My course comes complete with its very own Rocky Balboa chopping stump.(oh, dear Lord, help me.)   A pulley-rope-thingie attached to one of our many hickory trees, and something that I'm supposed to do to cross our creek "using my core muscles and my arm muscles".  Did I mention that we have an extremely steep driveway?  Well, we do.  I will be running up said driveway, lunging up the driveway....and cussing the driveway, and throwing up on the driveway.

So, there ya' go!   I have my very on course and I will be "Gladiating".  Please say a prayer for me now before you go to another site or read an email.

Moral of the story?   Shut up, I know the moral of the story.