It is 11:47. In the p.m.
And I am not asleep.
Because it is 90 degrees in my bedroom.
We love our house with the fun yard and the lemon tree.
We have lived here for a year and a half
and truly believe this house with the screened in patio
is a gift that God has lavished on the Aughtmon family.
But what we didn't realize when we moved in January of 2006
is that summer in our sweet house can be like a foretaste of hades.
I believe in global warming.
Because it is taking place in my kitchen.
The butter on the counter has melted into a yellow puddle.
The children are drinking water without me telling them to
and want to live in the refrigerator
because it is the only cool place in the house.
I can be referred to as "Cranky Crankerson".
Because I feel like I am languishing on the dunes of the Kalahari
with nary an oasis in sight.
One child complained that he didn't like dinner last night
and he almost lost a limb.
Because you don't want to mess with mama when she is this hot.
And I'm not calling myself "Hot Mama" in a good way.
Scott can attest to that.
Even the glimpses of cellulite and upper arm flab can not stop me from
donning my shortest shorts and flimsiest tanktop.
My hair is lank and wispy in the heat.
I am sweaty and most likely, a little on the stinky side.
I sit in front of a fan that blows hot air on me
and for some reason all three children
think this means I want them to lean on me
with their small heat radiating bodies.
And somehow, the ability to peel myself off the couch
and haul the children to the air conditioned McDonald's playland
is beyond me.
And I think to myself....this could be a bit like hell.
Hot. No cross breeze. Cranky people. No room to breathe. Smells bad.
Not that I was doubting it before,
But now I'm extra sure that I don't want to go to hell.
So in a strange way, I am extra thankful for Jesus today.
And for his saving grace.
And for my friends with AC.
You know who you are.
Sleepover at your house tomorrow night.