Going South

No, we're not going on vacation, but south is certainly where I'm headed. Or at least certain parts of my body in this heat.

In fact, as I sit here and melt, I'm pretty sure my nose has taken up residence by my belly button. And between aging and nursing three children, it's a place already at capacity, if you know what I mean. There's no more room at the inn.

We've been trying not to install the air conditioners in our bedrooms until July 1st to save a little money. But you know what, it's hot in my house. Cook an egg on the sidewalk hot. Bake some cookies on your dashboard hot. And my babies are cranky. Shoot, I'm cranky.

There's a place for idealistic notions and I'm thinking it is far, far away from sweaty, miserable little ones. Their bedrooms are the hottest places in the house, outside of the kitchen. I didn't even cook in the kitchen today and it felt like a suana. I'm thinking this does not bode well for my canning days ahead.

We live in an old house (circa 1834) and I'm trying to figure out how in the world they survived. Agood majority of the time it is cooler outside than inside. From what I understand our second floor is part of the original house, but they had to have done something to keep cool in the summer to sleep. It's a mystery to me. Much like why I ever thought it would be a good idea to eat cheese from a can, but that's another story.

But maybe I shouldn't be surprised at the stifling heat since I can see my breath in the winter in certain rooms. There is something to be said for temperature control. Trust me. I have a few words for all the people out there who talk about acclimating ourselves to the weather and how we'll adjust to it...you're on crack. And your mama wears combat boots. So there.

Do you see what's happening to me here? Someone better start praying.

Now.

Anyway, time will tell if we can make it to our self-induced misery of a goal. And by make it I mean without having to be sucked up off the floor with a wet vac. Cause after leaving Abigail's room and being able to wring my shirt out from the sweat, I'm ready to fold like a deck of cards.

So if you'll excuse me, I need to scoop up that nose of mine. The lint is not happy about being displaced at all...



P.S. Thanks for listening...okay, if you have to be technical, thanks for reading. *smile*