Monday, June 23 (NH)

We're having a heat wave here in NH, and it was sweltering. I'd taken today off work, so I had the whole day free. While the kids slept in, I read in my hammock for a long time. 

After lunch, we went to the pond. I floated around on an inflatable boat, and the kids played as they always do on the floating dock, with the whole crowd of inflatables. Their game (?) this time, from what I could make out as I drifted around, involved pushing each other off the dock or encouraging each other to jump off, thrashing in the water and scrambling to get onto an inflatable, then screaming "BIG BACK!" at each other in a highest-volume call-and-response. Indeed, the phrase "big back" seemed to be the only thing they said to each other, and it was used as noun, verb, name, exclamation, expletive, and adjective. They were wildly hysterical. Even though I was only marginally paying attention to them, now and then their insanity would reach me and I would snicker as I floated. 

We tried to do some tube cookies and coloring outside in the afternoon while Andrew was on some work calls, but this activity fell flat because 1) trying to bake cookies, even tube cookies, in our toaster oven is a fruitless task (our oven stopped working last summer; our replacement is a countertop toaster/convection oven); and 2) it was hot as Hades outside and we were melting.

Later in the afternoon, we went for a swim in our cousins' pool, getting our core temperatures down to normal. When we got back, Andrew and I doused Farrah with the hose. She'd been a limp dishrag all day and this perked her right up.

Andrew grilled hot dogs tonight and we ate outside as always. The kids cracked themselves up over more "big back" nonsense. Greta laughed so hard she nearly aspirated her s'more.

I just had to pause my typing because I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, in the corner of our bedroom. Nutmeg! She is not supposed to be in this room because under our bed is an ancient, deteriorating box spring undoubtedly filled with mouse droppings, and of course Nutmeg is determined to go under the bed and hop onto/into the box spring. Greta and I successfully navigated her back to the girls' room, but our makeshift barrier across their doorway (ie, an old piece of pegboard leaning against the doorframe with books blocking the edges) is clearly insufficient. She just pushes the book aside and squeezes herself free. This is her second escape so far.

Anyway. We are very very very hot right now. One more day of these temperatures and then we should be okay.

What We're Reading

Margo: All That Life Can Afford by Emily Everett

Andrew: Proust

Lucia: Star Bringer by Tracy Wolff

Greta: How to Sell a Haunted House by Grady Hendrix