On being a mama when it’s hot

I live in New England where it gets hot, like real hot, for just maybe two weeks of the year.  I didn’t have an air conditioner in my home till I was in college, and sharing an apt and I really didn’t use one all the time till I was pregnant with Kai.

It’s like with the heat in the fall, I’m always in a race with myself to see how long I can go without using the oil heat – or even turning on the pellet stove.  Last year we didn’t use the oil till Dec, and I felt triumphant.

So not using AC is another one of those things that gets to the  frugal, old Yankee in me.  But this week, this week, I’m gladly hauled up in the house with the AC on and the shades drawn.  Kai’s watching more TV than I’ll admit to anywhere but here, and the baby is wandering around with only a diaper on.

Heat does funny things to people round here, and by round here, I mean Kai and me.  We get all crazy, and it’s not really a stretch for the little one, who has energy to spare – but for me, my temper is in direct correlation with the thermometer.

So there we are at six’ish, and the heat has thrown off everything – we’ve eaten at weird times, people are taking weird naps.  So it’s six’ish and I’m trying like crazy to get some laundry folded.  And Keegan, Keegan is trying like crazy to run around my bed, and pull off every folded piece of clothing, like some kind of laundry sprite.  So now, now I’m putting piles on top of desks and drawers, and my room is looking like a still life ode to laundry.   And Kai, he who has decided he doesn’t need to wear diapers or underwear, or even pull ups, is doing flips in my pillows, and knocking down piles of towels.   And it’s not like I haven’t said something, or negotiated with them, you know, them who are one and three.  It’s just they’re crazy and it’s hot, and I’m frustrated, and then someone pulls something out of someone’s hand, and the crying ensues.  And I just want to scream. So loud.

But I don’t. I just lay down on the bed on top of the piles of clean folded laundry, in front of the blast of cool air from the ac, and I resign myself to the crying boys, and the laundry and I just lay there still. Still, while everything around me moves in great waves of giving-off-heat entropy, and I wish for a thunderstorm to drown it all out, and cool it all down.

Tags: Air conditioning, Laundry, Mothering, New England