It is about a million degrees in the house right now, this summer solstice evening. I have just come downstairs for the umpteenth time, floating on heat waves as I ride the banister. The last trip was to tuck my youngest daughter in bed with throw pillows and blankets all in place along with every other necessity placed around her, just so. I am in no mood for negotiations- let’s get this show on the road. I am almost about to leave the room when she gives me the look. The “aren’t you forgetting something” look.
“What?” I ask impatiently.
“You know,” she says accusingly. I follow her gaze to a heavy, pink shag throw blanket on the end of her bed that weighs as much as a small dog. In the still of the moment, I can hear the CD she has picked out for this evening’s listening pleasure. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer.
Is this child for real?
“No,” I say firmly. “No blanket tonight- it’s too hot.”
She starts. It begins as a low grinding noise and it will soon escalate into full throttle space shuttle mode if I don’t get that blasted buffalo rug wrapped as tightly around her as is humanly possible. Is it possible to kill your child with kindness? Because I have a little hotdog roasting up there over an open spit (a.k.a. the room temperature in her neck of the woods could fry an egg)
I leave the room to cool my jets, but then feel bad about storming out in a huff. So, after a short cooling off of my own, I head back up into the furnace, walk in to her room, place my hand on her forehead, and she says this to me:
“I’m, like, SWEATING,” in her bestest Valley-girl voice.
No kidding, Sherlock, really? Happy Summer Solstice to all my blog readers!