Have I Mentioned That It’s Been Hot?

It’s approximately four hundred and three degrees outside right now.  Apparently, the sun is on a mission to vaporize rock on the earth, and it doesn’t care about human casualties, melting in the process.  I know that in another five months, I’m going to be griping about ALL THE SNOW and ALL THE FROSTBITE, so I should hush myself now, but I just can’t help it.

It’s hot, and I’m pretty much to the point of LET’S NOT DO ANY EVENT THAT REQUIRES MORE NATURE EXPOSURE THAN YOU’D GET, RUNNING FROM THE AIR-CONDITIONED HOUSE TO THE AIR-CONDITIONED CAR AND THEN TO THE AIR-CONDITIONED PLACE YOU WANT TO GO.

This morning, I had Hubs do the Practice Kindergarten drop-off.  I felt that if Thing 2 is practicing recess and practicing lining up and practicing not shoving on the playground, then Hubs should really practice taking him there, which gives me more time to drink coffee in the morning.  Not that drinking coffee any more even really matters, because the Whole30 has sucked the joys of coffee right out of my life, like a five-year-old, getting the last bits of milkshake with a straw.  If you can’t have cream, there’s really not a point in having coffee.

Since Hubs did the drop-off this morning on his way to work, I took a look at my calendar and realized that I had nowhere to go today, until swimming lessons at 4:00.  Since those are indoors, where the humidity is 4,000%, I decided that I had NO REAL REASON TO DO MY HAIR.  So… I air-dried my mane.  It turned out a little on the THIS IS NOT VERY STELLAR OR RUNWAY WORTHY side, so I French braided the whole mess, to be done with it.  Please don’t assume that I can actually manipulate my fingers in a manner that twists hair into lovely French braids, because I CAN… NOT.  It’s why the good Lord gave me boys.  He knew that the ability to do good hair is simply not my gig, so he gave me little people with very short hair to raise.

My French braid turned out to look exactly like I had been inside a building that the demolition crew had decided to tear down… with dynamite.  After looking in the mirror this morning, I decided that the only thing missing was some Sheetrock dust all over it, to complete the look of I HUNKERED DOWN IN THE ROOT CELLAR WHEN THE BLAST HAPPENED, AND THEN CRAWLED THROUGH THE DEBRIS TO FIND THE NEAREST TACO STAND.

No matter.

I wasn’t going anywhere.

I made beds, started a load of laundry, emptied clean dishes out of the dishwasher and loaded dirty ones in, and swept the kitchen floor.

And then my mom called, to ask if I wanted to go shopping with her in the city, for some new shirts and shoes.

And then my cousin called, to say she was driving through Small Town, USA.  She asked if I wanted to meet her and her children at a park to play for a bit, before she loaded them back into her mini van to continue their journey home to Rival Town.

So yes.  I took my I SURVIVED THE EXPLOSION hairdo, and I went out into the public today.  It was every bit as glamorous as you’d imagine.

My cousin has four children.  She has three of the most adorable redheaded boys y’all have ever seen, and then her daughter has a luxurious mane of blonde hair.

Anyway.

The two older kids are at different camps this week, so my cousin just had the two wee ones with her at the park.  Thing 2 gave them a good run… through the grass, down the slide, jump over the swings, climb this pole, jump off this piece of playground equipment, and THERE!  You should be ready for a nap in the car, for the last leg of your journey home!  While all of that was happening, my cousin and I sat on a bench in the shade, where we tried to pretend that the mercury wasn’t sitting at 96 in the thermometers.  We talked and talked AND TALKED SOME MORE.

That girl is a treasure!

My great aunt was my cousin’s grandmother.

Did you keep up with that?  Basically, her dad and my dad are first cousins.  I’m not very good at all the branches on a family tree, so I’m not sure how many TWICE REMOVEDS have to be said before you get to OUR relationship… so I simply say she’s my cousin.

And she is.

We called my great aunt (who was my cousin’s grandma) “Auntie B” for our entire lives, and she was a dear woman, with a strong, STRONG sense of family.  She wore bright red lipstick, she worked like a horse, her house was immaculate at all times, she never had a weed in her yard, she always, ALWAYS had a pint of ice cream in her 1960 Montgomery Ward’s deep freeze, in case anyone stopped by for a visit, and she made it her life’s mission to gather the family once a year for a family reunion, where she snapped group pictures of everyone.  Those pictures went into albums, where she would handwrite everyone’s names and the dates.

Auntie B passed away this past spring, and we all miss her horribly, but I feel like my cousin and I honored her fully today, as we scrunched our littlest people together, for a quick group snapshot.

And by quick snapshot, I mean that I took exactly seventeen pictures with my camera, and these are the only two where AT LEAST TWO OUT OF THREE CHILDREN ARE LOOKING AT THE CAMERA… AT THE SAME TIME.

And that pretty much sums up why I don’t make a living as a photographer.

We didn’t get to play very long with our favorite little redheads, before we had to rush out and get Thing 2 to swimming lessons.

The humidity on the side of that indoor pool was exactly the 4,000% that I had predicted.  I dripped the kind of sweat that’s usually reserved for crossing the Sahara Desert at high noon, and began seeing mirages of roadside stands selling iced coffee… with cream and cream and cream and also cream.

Doggone-it, Whole30!  Your dietary restrictions make me hate hot AND cold coffee!

Y’all have a good Tuesday evening.  May your air conditioners be working this evening, and may your diets allow you to have ice cream cones for dinner.

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