Can I Just Go Back to Bed, Please?

Both boys are home today because it's Thursday. It's also another one of those Jesus-fuck-it's-hot days. Which means I can either (a) leave them to their own devices, which will surely result in them growing excessively bored around noon-ish and thereafter driving me to drink before 5pm, or (2) take them to the fucking pool.

(Sigh)

The fucking pool. I cast baleful glances in its general direction. Because it's so stupid hot, no one can do anything else outdoors, so they go to the pool. So the water is full of fat people and their stupid, fat, unruly children who alternately kick you in the face or swim up your ass. Unfortunately, it's too hot to not be in the water. And if we go, we have to get there 15 minutes before they open and stand there in line sweating like fucking idiots just to guarantee we can each have a deck chair because Mama is NOT lying on a towel on the concrete, thankyouverymuch and if Mama has a chair, you can bet your ass those badass kids will insist on sitting with her or bitch about their lack of chairs. Which means I will not have time to feed them lunch before we leave and they will demand food from the super-expensive concession stand until I tell them to shut up before I drown you.

It also means I did not have time to run before we get our pool on, which means I will have to do it after we get home, when I will be slightly roasted and a little light-headed from sun and heat exposure. Which means I'm about 72% more likely to pass out around mile 3 and get thrown off the treadmill into the wall directly behind it.

Wake me up when it's Labor Day weekend, 'kay?

House Arrest in Hell

It's Sunday. Our area is under a "severe heat advisory" which is the adult way to say "it's real fuckin' hot." We don't want to go to the pool because every fatty in town will be there and it's so hot, it's not enough to simply be next to the water, so we'd have to jump in the pond with all the other cattle. We don't want to go to the movies because it's not a good time to take a second mortgage out on the house.

So right now, the husband is at the gym, the toddler is "playing dishes" in the kitchen sink and I'm debating whether I should finish crocheting a hat I started yesterday or finish some sewing projects I started last week. I'm really not sure where the older kid is, and I'm not sure I want to know.

Really, I just want it to be...not as hot.

Sacrilege, coming from me, a confirmed summer-holic. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE summer. I yearn for summer. I cry every Labor Day because it's kind of the official "end" of summer. But holy shit, 115 degrees is for pork, not people. (I like my pork medium rare, thank you.) It's not even this hot in Florida. Heat and humidity is charming when you live within walking distance of a beach--not when you're landlocked.

I have to admit, though, it doesn't bother me much. I like spending Sunday lazing around doing very little (since it's not physically possible for me to "do nothing"). Reveling in the fact I have a comfortable sofa and central air conditioning. And if my kids insist on spending the day whining about how boooorrrred they are, I can smile, knowing they are finally spending their summer the same damn way I did.