Did I mention that it’s hot out?

I realized yesterday that it’s kinda been a while since I wrote a general, lacking-a-theme, miscellaneous-style post around here, what with all the time and energy I’ve been putting into 3-ways and enjoying the view from my soapbox.  Oh, and let’s not forget  beer-related posts for Hoperatives and the international escapades of some guy who always just happens to be where my facebook location says I am.  Luckily for me, he’s being followed by a vague and possibly dangerous dude and seems to be running from a murder; I’m just daydreaming.

At any rate, I figured I’d take a day and just sort of ramble a bit.  Like the Good Ole Days™ of early 2010.

I took the older kids to the pool yesterday, sans Puddinette and the Attitude, because it was not only naptime for the ‘Tude but also ridiculously hot.  And when I say ridiculously hot, I’m not just talking about some minor inconvenience heat here.  I’m talking about wondering-how-I-could-personally-do-something-to-make-Hell-freeze-over-and-cool-us-off-a-little heat. A Memorial Day temperature of 90 degrees is Just. Plain. Wrong.  It’s almost enough to make a body start wondering about this global warming business, but, and let’s all say it together, weather is not climate.  That’s not to say I don’t believe there might be some validity to global warming, but that’s another post.

By the way, have you ever noticed that when discussing global warming, it ultimately all comes down to belief?  I love that we talk about Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, and global climate change using the same basic vocabulary.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, or pool, as the case may be.  I wasn’t sure how I’d manage at the swim club without another adult present, because, um, sometimes I tend to use my own childhood as a reference for whether or not I’ll allow my kids to do something.  Back in my day, as long as a kid wasn’t juggling flaming chainsaws while riding a unicycle on a tight rope over a pit of hungry alligators, all was well.

That kind of analysis, for instance, can lead to exchanges like this one*:

“Dad, can I practice swallowing flaming swords like that guy at the circus?”

Hmm…no fires in the house when I was a kid, I think to myself.  “Sorry, buddy, you’ll have to go outside and practice for a circus career.”

I guess maybe consulting my past experiences probably does not conform to the Accepted Standards of Modern Parenting.  Which means I’m going to have to keep working at it if I want to earn my “Overly-Cautious” or “Hovering” badges.  Otherwise, I’m afraid the Puddinpop could end up tying his own shoes in college, and won’t that be pretty embarrassing for him.

Kidding aside, even though there were enough people at the pool yesterday that I briefly thought we’d unwittingly shown up on Lady Gaga bobble head day, everything turned out very well.  I took three kids in with me, left with three kids (the same ones even!), and everyone had a good bit of splashy, wet fun in the pool.  It was an excessively warm naptime well spent.

Now, will someone please leave their door open and cool the outside world?  That’d be great, thanks.

Pud’n

*No actual sword-swallowing, flaming or otherwise, occurred in the writing of this post.

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