Confusion All Around

Hey, remember a month ago when I was all, "SNOW IN APRIL?  WHAT THE HELL, MAMA N."?  Or something similar, but minus the caps.

And then there was the month before that--you know, March--when it was 80 degrees and I was all, "What the hell, summer weather in late winter?  But okay."

And then last night it was 84 degrees in our bedroom and I had to stumble downstairs at 10 p.m. after emphatically NOT SLEEPING for an hour so I could retrieve the standing fan to add to the window fan and hopefully make it not-stifling enough that some actual sleep could occur.

It sort of worked.  But mostly not.

I don't usually have to resort to this until around late June.  And yet, here it is, late May and we have the full roaring wind tunnel effect to lull us to sleep (HA) already.

I do not appreciate this.  I would be more upset, however, if I thought this was really the beginning of miserable summer weather with no relief until September.  But the way this year is going, I wouldn't be at all surprised to get a frost in July.

And then I wouldn't have to worry about canning tomatoes, I guess.

Refreshments

It's really damn hot around here, y'all.  I think it's supposed to be 91 degrees on Monday.  For those of you just joining us, we do not have air conditioning in any part of our house, nor do we have enough electricity to have any.

And this year, I don't even have the dubious comfort of my beloved gin and tonics.  Downer.

However!  I have found something that while not at all like a G&T--in that it has no inebriating effect whatsoever nor the delightful tang of quinine--is still quite refreshing and at least a change from plain water.

Sparkling lemonade: Juice from one lemon, a little simple syrup, and seltzer from my unlimited supply.  Plus ice, of course.  Beer mug optional.  Cat totally unnecessary.

Cubby prefers to hydrate with watermelon.  And no nice, neat little cut-up cubes either; he wants the full-on, drip-down-your-face, coat-you-with-sticky-juice slice.

Which is why he eats it outside, immediately before bathtime.

The long holiday weekend starts tomorrow, duckies.  Load up on your refreshment of choice, and have a good one.

Preparing

Now that no one in the household is using the many cloth diapers we have on hand . . .

Including this dapper gentleman, who I swear to God was not preparing to attend a polo match or a garden party or whatever.  Unless you count planting seeds to be a garden party, which I suppose some people might.  Including me.

It was time to get them ready for their next soiler.  That is, the baby currently in residence in my torso.  So I stripped the diapers* and hung them out in the glaringly hot sun for some solar disinfectant.

I kind of love the sight of diapers on a clothesline, but I also kind of love that I am not required to wash and hang them out there every day.  Which I will be in, oh, a couple of months.  Downer.

I also received two enormous bags of baby clothes from my friend Alyssa today.  You may remember she has two little boys herself and I think has no plans for any more, so she was very happy to do some de-cluttering and send a bunch of stuff my way.  Plus, some of it is stuff that I gave her when her younger son was born.

It's all a big circle of tiny blue plaid shirts and footie p.j.'s, you see.

Now we just have to do some intensive furniture moving, get Cubby settled in his new bedroom, haul out our own enormous container of baby clothes, make sure I have nursing things, find the infant carseat . . .

Less than two months.  GOGOGO.

* This is something that needs to be done with cloth diapers occasionally, but I am not going into detail here because I am not one of those people who gets a charge out of the Great Diaper Discussions. If you have ever seen a parenting message board on which someone has asked a question about diapers and the FIVE MILLION VERY PASSIONATE responses generated by such a question, you will know what I mean. 

Sing It, Mr. T

Oh, this was too good not to share with you today.  Because today is Mr. T's 60th birthday.  You know Mr. T.  "The A Team"?  Mohawk?  Gold chains?  "I pity the fool"?  Yeah.  Him.

Turns out Mr. T has something to say about how to treat your mother.  And dammit, Cubby better listen up.  Because Mr. T said so.

Go here to watch the best music video I have seen in . . . maybe forever.

Bonus

At 9:25 on an average weekday morning, I would be outside with Cubby, hanging laundry while he does things with various tools.  But THIS splendid morning, A. has taken Cubby to see a barge with a pile driver at work in the lake, putting in footings for a new dock at the house from which our old dock was salvaged.

There's nothing like some unexpected time off due to heavy machinery.