ingrid

It’s freaking hot here.  So hot that you wish you could peel your skin right off and toss it by the door.  So hot that you would like to crawl in the tea bags sitting in the sun tea jar on the porch and pack your pores in camomile.  So hot that you wish you were a little green worm on the basil plants.  So hot that the dark hole under the apple tree looks like a welcome place to pop in.  So hot that you want to grab hold of one blade on the fan and just ride it around and around all day.  So hot.

I don’t tolerate the heat well.  I spend most of the day walking from room to room trying to gauge where the absolute worst and absolute best places are in the house.  I open windows in the morning and then try to close them at exactly the right moment to preserve optimal coolness.  I take showers.  I splash my face a lot.  I think about November.  I whine.

This evening the kids crashed out in the basement (the one comfortably cool place in the house), and I put Inez down to sleep in the portable crib in our room, which is considerably better than the sweat box that we call the kids’ room.  Inez fussed for a while and finally dropped off to sleep.  I thought maybe she was uncomfortable, but when I went to check on her, this is what I found:

Nice!  I felt like a big meanie putting the diaper back on when it is so freaking hot, but some things have got to be done.  Stay cool folks.

In: General bitchin', My super freakin' cute kids | | #