If anybody out there is peeking through our blinds - if there really is anybody left handing out gold stars - I would like to be clear that this house is not earning any this week. All week long, both my children and their parents seem to be taking turns melting down, apologizing, starting fresh, then melting down again half an hour later.
I'm blaming the weather.
Laura's blog (and corresponding emails) yesterday got me thinking about something - August in the Deep South is hell.
Northern and Midwestern folk complain about late winter slush, or spring that just won't show. In the Pacific Northwest, it rains for a few months. The Gulf Coast contends with hurricane season. Here, late summer is our enemy.
Don't believe me? The time at the tone is 9:06 p.m. It is 89* currently, with a heat index of 96*. That's NINETY SIX DEGREES AT NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT. Humidity's at 55%. The heat index tomorrow is expected to be 115.
Swimming pools feel like bathwater. I'm not even big pregnant, but my feet and fingers are still swelling by midday. Don't even bother mentioning playgrounds or parks - they've all been abandoned by this time of year. The equipment is too hot to touch. Any indoor play areas - fast food places, bouncy houses, the museum, book stores, libraries - anywhere that has air conditioning and will tolerate the sounds of young children playing - are completely overrun with elementary kids who are just as antsy as the little ones, even though they're trying to play it cool. Even little Silas - who LOVES a crowd - told me in Chick-fil-@ yesterday, "It too loud in there, Mama."
It's no wonder life becomes a bit ... monotonous in August. After a while, the walls start to close in.
All of that to say - if, like me, your children have been puddling on the floor all week (and if half the time you're a puddle right beside them), and the humidity seems to be pressing in on all sides - well, we're in it together, friend.
Labor Day is only six weeks away.