Despite it not officially beginning for another 10 days, summer has arrived in Houston. And it has officially made me miserable.
I’ve no idea why this thermometer is made of plywood…
Four & 1/2 months of 100+ degree heat are in the mail, and this makes me surly and despondent. Okay more surly and despondent. In fact, every year around this time I look longingly at places like Logan, UT (high of 84 today), and Newport, RI (high of 74), and wonder how I can escape this horrible place and go somewhere with a climate that’s conducive to how human beings are supposed to live.
Our electricity bill has already doubled for May, and it’s only going to get worse as Houston approaches its Emilio estival distance from the sun of roughly 5 miles.
And before you say, “yeah, but Texas winters are nice!” you should know that I adore cold weather. I actually function best when the ambient temperature is in the high 40’s. As such, I do not find Houston’s short-sleeve winters to be “nice.”
But enough of that.
So I returned home yesterday from getting new kicks for the Juke, and Daphne was deep in her slar phase. In fact, she slept for 2 hours straight…right up to the second that her mother shut the door to leave for a Pure Barre class.
And then, all hell broke loose.
Bottles were half-heartedly sipped and rejected, diapers were changed, bodily fluids were liberated all over my clothes (we both had to change outfits, twice), and there were minor burps, but nothing that measured on the Richter Scale of Fussiness Reduction.
No, none of my ameliorative efforts mattered. Tiny rage would be the order of the evening. Apparently some little girls just want to watch the world burn. That or watch their father lose what’s left of his mind. I guess that’s fun too.
And so I hiked her up on my shoulder and we walked. And walked. And walked. For 2 hours. Straight.
And I’m still tired from that little episode.
Finally, here’s a quick video of Daphne in her swing this morning. She was (again) on the event horizon of inconsolate fussiness when I recorded this, and you can hear the little malcontented squeaks that signal a tempest on the horizon.
That said, the gaseous denouement (complete with little leg kick), is my favorite part.
Posted: June 10, 2015 · Leave a Comment
Effluvience
Hi there,
Despite it not officially beginning for another 10 days, summer has arrived in Houston. And it has officially made me miserable.
Four & 1/2 months of 100+ degree heat are in the mail, and this makes me surly and despondent. Okay more surly and despondent. In fact, every year around this time I look longingly at places like Logan, UT (high of 84 today), and Newport, RI (high of 74), and wonder how I can escape this horrible place and go somewhere with a climate that’s conducive to how human beings are supposed to live.
Our electricity bill has already doubled for May, and it’s only going to get worse as Houston approaches its
Emilioestival distance from the sun of roughly 5 miles.And before you say, “yeah, but Texas winters are nice!” you should know that I adore cold weather. I actually function best when the ambient temperature is in the high 40’s. As such, I do not find Houston’s short-sleeve winters to be “nice.”
But enough of that.
So I returned home yesterday from getting new kicks for the Juke, and Daphne was deep in her slar phase. In fact, she slept for 2 hours straight…right up to the second that her mother shut the door to leave for a Pure Barre class.
And then, all hell broke loose.
Bottles were half-heartedly sipped and rejected, diapers were changed, bodily fluids were liberated all over my clothes (we both had to change outfits, twice), and there were minor burps, but nothing that measured on the Richter Scale of Fussiness Reduction.
No, none of my ameliorative efforts mattered. Tiny rage would be the order of the evening. Apparently some little girls just want to watch the world burn. That or watch their father lose what’s left of his mind. I guess that’s fun too.
And so I hiked her up on my shoulder and we walked. And walked. And walked. For 2 hours. Straight.
And I’m still tired from that little episode.
Finally, here’s a quick video of Daphne in her swing this morning. She was (again) on the event horizon of inconsolate fussiness when I recorded this, and you can hear the little malcontented squeaks that signal a tempest on the horizon.
That said, the gaseous denouement (complete with little leg kick), is my favorite part.
See you tomorrow,
j.s.
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