It's not the heat, it's the humidity

My Mother always says that when people wonder how she can live in the desert (the parents have retired to Vegas, or to "Vegas Baby!" which is how the Little Ballerina refers to it).

I mock her, but she's right. It's awful out there. You feel like you can just reach out and grab chunks of air and eat them.

Yesterday the kids wanted to go to the playground ... sigh. "Lets go watch TV in the air conditioning" is bad parenting, no? And anyway Little Ballerina lost "Kim Possible" rights due to excessive whining, so, fine I'll haul out the sprinkler.

I do forget how much fun that is. The water is sooooooo cold from the hose it cools you off right away. Even sitting next to it, getting the slight breeze over the sprinkler is enough. The Heffalump is slightly scared of the sprinkler so, she spends most of the time sitting on my lap, looking at the water, and then at me, as if to say "yo, you sure about this?"

She came around, she always does, and eventually they both climbed on top of me, Little Ballerina yelling "you have to get wet if you're wearing a suit," like duh, Mom, that's the rule, and we were all soaked, and covered in grass. And then tramping through the garage into the all of a sudden freezing house to get washed off. And so tiring -- they were out like lights an hour or so later, so I could kick back and watch the Yankees.