Kangatopia

There is one tradition that I like to maintain, and really- usually it isn’t too difficult. That is, every year when it gets so hot outside that all the cement is melted by midnight, the wind no longer blows, and the heat index is 138ºF, we gingerly place each sweaty kid into their car seat and only half-heartedly threaten them with bodily harm if they don’t behave.

Then, with our last shred of energy, we will drive in the general direction of a park, stop in the middle of the street with everybody else, take an old worn blanket out of the trunk, then sit gazing skyward at bursts of fire while the kids run as candy-crazed maniacs would through mosquito infested St. Augustine grass and the fire trucks sit poised on the neighborhood edges waiting for the inevitable.

This year was no different.

I rode 26 miles in a bike ride on Saturday. The amazing thing about that ride is that I felt no different afterwards then I did when I rode 10-14 miles in the previous two weekends. The weather was a lot cooler on Saturday morning due to some overnight rain so that might have made the difference.

On Monday I took Bear and Monkey to see a movie, and afterwards we picked up Winston and headed to a barbecue. After partaking in the pleasures of a water slide, we all headed off to a school parking lot where the mothers basked in the air conditioning inside a car, and the fathers took the offspring to a playground. When the fireworks started, each and every child, except Winston who didn’t really notice, sat in awe and watched the sky.