Slightly Warmer than Average Wave!

The whole continent, it seems, is having a heat wave, and meanwhile it has been slightly warmer than average in Calgary. I’m certainly not complaining, mind you, I’ll take slightly warmer than average over unbelievably cold with gale force winds, which was the case earlier in the week, when I met my best friend and her four kids at the playground. We ended up staying all of ten minutes before the rain started and the boys and I began our cold, windy, and wet walk home.

But now it’s lovely and warm and we have been spending our days outside. I saw this article and wondered if, perhaps, this explains why my neighbour persists in shirtlessness, regardless of the weather conditions. Sadly, I think it is unrelated to the noise level and has more to do with the intrinsic belief in the kind of sexuality that can only be expressed through the wearing of nothing whatsoever but cut-off sweat pants and gigantic running shoes. But even writing this I know that I am being hypocritical: if my neighbour resembled someone in one of those Diet Coke commercials, I certainly would not be complaining about it. However.

Yesterday I forayed inside in search of heat-resistant snacks, and was treated to some words every mother loves to hear: “Mom, I pulled the thing off the blue thing outside? And it exploded.” Ah. Explosions. I went out to see our mister/sprinkler, missing the screw that makes it a mister, shooting water into the air not unlike a fire hose. The mister is now a high-pressure instrument of water torture. And because I subscribe, apparently, to a very high level of energetic parenting in the summer, I relaxed on the deck with a book whist said water torture instrument was vigorously employed. The boys took turns stepping into the line of fire, so to speak, and then taking their umbrellas into the line of fire, and then shot streams of water onto the trees, which the trees probably appreciated. I looked up from my book only occasionally to ask them to turn down the water if it started to go into our neighbour’s yard.

My lovely, elderly next door neighbour is very tolerant of the boys and their shenanigans. I think perhaps she is a little hard of hearing, which works well for neighbourly relations. This did not stop me from becoming completely smug while we chatted over the fence and she complimented me on the boys. “I never hear them fighting!” she said, “They sure get along well. I don’t ever hear crying!” Which is true, they rarely fight or cry, especially outside. I straightened my shoulders proudly. At that exact moment of pride, the back door flew open to reveal a sobbing, hysterical Jake, naked except for a t-shirt. Tears streamed down his face as he screamed that he needed to use the bathroom, but there was a spider in the toilet, and he didn’t want to eliminate on it. And with that, I excused myself from the conversation and went to flush a spider.