But look, Weather. This isn't it. It's not time for it. This is just a trial run, right? A little teaser trailer for summer, before you go back to where you were and ramp us up gently. We're not doing the whole thing right now for real. We're just not.
Because if you are, well I just refuse to, that's all. The heat was beating back up at me off the asphalt this morning as I left the supermarket with two unruly children in tow. I have yet to figure out how I'm going to do the shopping with both of them all summer long once Monkey's out of school, because his ability to be useful by, say, retrieving Mabel's discarded shoes or running after an escapee sister, is directly mitigated by the extra helping of craziness they both have just by being in the same place at the same time. And the air conditioning in the house, let's just say its most flattering angle is downstairs. Downstairs is quite lovely. But upstairs in the bedrooms, not so much. Especially in Mabel's south-facing bedroom. At the moment I can open the windows when the kids go to bed and by the middle of the night, at least, their rooms are much more pleasant. But as summer progresses, that's not going to remain the case. I think we might need some fans, lest our children simply melt away into small puddles of sweat that soak through their sheets and pool on the waterproof mattress protectors on each of their beds.
And then, since I spend so much of the night with young Miss Sweaty McHotterson, I can't sleep because I'm too damn hot and the small furnace who insists on being attached to me won't desist. Which leads to a very grumpy and tired mother, and doesn't bode well for the coming months, as I can't be a fun entertainments director if I haven't had any sleep, and the children will be watching entirely too much TV if I can't muster the energy to make the dash from air-conditioned house to instant-melt car and take them somewhere else air-conditioned, or the pool.
So, Weather. Go away. Come back in July. Give me time. Please, just a little more time...