Can I tell you a little secret? Summer makes me grumpy. It always has. Wherever I’ve lived, Spring has been given remarkably short shrift, and summer weather has always asserted itself long before the calendar was ready to cop to it.
So what’s today? March 9? It’s 77 frickin’ degrees out today. Right this minute, I am in my tank top jammies and breaking a sweat, even with all the windows open. I just about tore out of bed last night at 11 after waking up feeling suffocated and close, damp long johns sticking to my body. Sure, I had 75 collective pounds of toddler fencing me in on either side, but still, I was roasting.
I know it’s practically a sin to say one doesn’t appreciate summer. But man, I would give just about anything to double Springtime. While we’re at it, I’d like to double Fall as well, so long as it doesn’t mean that a frigid winter must follow. I just think that the world would be a better place with longer stretches of mild weather, because the heat makes me cranky. And when Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.
Speaking of which, Gil made a very nice dinner of crab legs and asparagus tonight. And I ruined it completely. Granted, it was 7:30 by the time he was back from the store and I had the table set, and the kids were cranky and over-hungry and overtired, and I was more of the same after a needlessly stressful day, but who in their right mind can manage to blow a good time like that? Melted butter? Shellfish? Good wine? I must be smoking crack—I should have been on my knees thanking him for being so wonderful. It was just a little hard to remember to do that with the kids punching each other and crying and complaining about not having their food served in the right dishes.
And there was the matter of the absolutely huge (hewge) (Lee, I will never be able to utter that word again without doing that BTW) Milky Way bar that was purchased for stashing in the freezer until dessert time. All three children had seen it. Each wanted to be the one to put it away. All three had different ideas about where it should go (the freezer? The candy drawer? Dylan’s pants pocket?). Unfortunately, each skirmish was settled (by me, because I’m that overbearing) with the Look of Death, followed inevitably by my shouting warnings about consequences and revocation of privileges. I was annoying the shit out of myself, not to mention my husband, who deals with this all day long. I really started to feel bad when I overheard Logan telling Gil how he’d accidentally elbowed Daphne while putting on his jammies. “You should just tell Mom what happened.” “Are you kidding? Do you know how grumpy she’ll get?” Yeeee-ouch.
At this moment, Gil is straightening up the kitchen with the radio on and the sliders closed, presumably either so that he will not have to hear any bon mots slung his way, or to protect my bionic mommy ears from any he may be slinging himself. Who says long marriages don’t slide into their own comfort zones?
Anyway, I may look as if I enjoy the summer weather, with my mules and skirts and up-dos and refusal to ever wear nylons, but in fact it is more the things that relieve the oppressive heat that make me happy in summertime. It sure ain’t the sunshine on my delicate Scottish complexion. It’s the creative escapes from it that rock my world. But don’t tell anyone or I’ll be kicked out of California.