I really think I’ve had seasonal affective disorder this year. The sun, though, is what is making me depressed. I usually don’t mind high temperatures, but this summer was the hottest since the Dust Bowl. Nearly 50 days of over 100 degree heat. I don’t care how controlled the indoor environment is, that kind of prolonged extreme temperature takes its toll. Every motion takes effort. And the poor kids. They need to be outside, and don’t care if the parents are wilting, or if they needed to stay hydrated, or if they get burnt to a crisp. So they spent the summer naked, slathered in sunscreen (which they rubbed in their eyes about every five minutes). Stay in the pool you say? Really? Try chasing 2 slippery non-swimmers around the shallow end. It’s generally more exhausting than it’s worth.
So the cheery sun mocked us every morning as we slogged to the steaming black car, sweated our way across parking lots and watched our carefully tended plants wither. Not even a drop of rain.
When the temperatures dipped to a chilly 90, we all suddenly felt better. Granted, it was probably my cheerfulness that positively affected the whole family. (Which is another post entirely.)
Now the weather actually feels like fall and I’m having to put socks and jackets on the kids. But I’m not complaining. At least the sun and I have forged a truce, however shaky.