Every weekend recently is a long weekend, and generally not in a good way. Dianthus doesn't seem to get that we can't go play when it is over 100 out (and once a week we have an official high of 98 but otherwise it has been over 100 since we returned from May travels). We're in a small town with no mall, no ice rink, no children's museum, no indoor play area, and no shady mountain or lake escapes: once we go to Walmart (which we did on both Saturday and Sunday) we've pretty well exhausted the air conditioned public spaces.
I'm sweaty, irritable, nine-months pregnant and feeling it. The Mister is dealing with an irritable wife, a classically two-year old son and a scorched landscape. He's feeling it.
Fortunately for us, my mother arrives Wednesday, my father arrives the next week and the Mister's parents are hopefully visiting shortly therafter.
Still, I'll admit that as I look towards August with a newborn, a two-year-old and a continued "exceptional" drought, I'm scared.
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