The air has been hot and heavy. You don’t so much walk around in it as you struggle to push your way through it, thick as cream soup, calves burning from the heat radiating upwards from the cement. It’s miserable. It’s claustrophobic.
Sometimes I feel as if the house is collapsing around me. The walls get smaller and closer to me and the ceiling lowers with every breath I take until I am hunched over trying not to be suffocated. Usually that’s when I plan an escape. We pack a stroller and walk around the lake to feed some ducks and hit a playground. Or we head to the mall, the children’s play area both a haven and the 7th circle of hell simultaneously.
This week there was no escaping. We were home bound and at the mercy of the air conditioning repair men who turned up sweaty and scraggly, tattooed with lovely manners.
They smiled at the boys and called me ma’am.
Sometimes staying at home is a rough gig. Sometimes I’m lonely. Sometimes the only adult I speak with all day is a stranger-made-friend on twitter.
140 characters can sometimes save my sanity.
The boys were hot and cranky. Huckleberry is now mobile and into everything. Specifically everything Boss is into. A small brother on your imaginary baseball field can put a real damper on your game.
“watch out for Baboo!” I say for the 20 millionth time that day as the baseball bat swings quickly over his small head.
“see Mommy, it goes OVER him.”
We are Melting. Mentally, emotionally, physically. All of us, and there seems to be no escape. Sleep is impossible, fingers and toes feeling swollen, full of hot water, hard to bend. Cranky, wanting to find comfort in snuggles but burning up with each touch
Then this morning: rain.