I've never before really compared "baby books"--you know, Daniel's and mine to our kids'. But after her latest post, I thought it might be interesting to check out all our stats and see how they match up.

Here are some of my findings:

-- Gabriel's "firsts" match Daniel's almost exactly. Daniel sat unsupported at 5 months; Gabriel at 4.5 months. Daniel crawled at 6.5 months; Gabriel at 6. Daniel stood unsupported at 10 months; Gabriel at 10.5 months. And so on and so forth.

-- I don't have a tooth record for Daniel, but my baby book included one. All three of my children cut their bottom (and first) teeth at 7 months, and it just so happens that I got mine then.

-- Bronwyn said her first word 2 months younger than Gabriel said his, but he was attempting sentences before he was 12 months and, well, Bronwyn was much older before doing so.

-- All 3 of my children have weighed more at 6 months than I weighed at 15 months. I guess we know where their size didn't come from.

-- All 3 of my children have weighed less at 7.5 months than Daniel weighed at 6 months, and Gabriel and Bronwyn actually weighed less at 10 months than Daniel weighed at 6 months. (How did Mom Paladin carry him around?!?!) We'll see how Jack grows; other than the first few months, he seems to be mirroring Gabriel more closely than either of his parents thus far.

-- Daniel ate his first "food" (pureed fruits and veggies) at 4 months, but didn't really like it until he could feed himself. I ate my first food at 6 months; there is no record of what I thought of it. Gabriel and Bronwyn ate their first food at 10 and 9 months respectively. Jackson has yet to have his first taste of anything remotely solid.

-- All 5 of us were blessed with incredibly good health and generally happy infancy. This is something I don't want to ever take for granted.

I need to be more content.

I say this all the time to myself. I say it when I'm doing laundry like I have everyday for the past couple years. I say it when I'm staying home and others are going out. I say it when I miss the climax of the sermon because #33 appeared on the nursery call sign in the sanctuary... again.

I say it a lot. And it's good to say.

But I say it a lot because I think my life is hum-drum a lot. And that's wrong.

Yesterday I realized just how wrong. I saw how hum-drum my life isn't supposed to be. And I was convicted when he said that monotony has nothing to do with the place (geographic or season) I'm in and everything to do with my place (relationship) with Him.

Last night was supposed to be the beginning of a tradition Daniel and I are attempting implementing this semester: Friday date/family night. Friday nights can't be booked for any campus ministry events (because of IVCF) and the church leadership typically leaves that night available and, well, since last semester kind of left our family a bit steam-rolled, we decided carving out some intentional time to share and be together would be a wise thing.

Dinner was eaten, dishes were washed. Daniel played (code for wrestling) with the kids on the floor while I sat like an exhausted zombie in the nearby chair. 8pm quickly rolled around and, with it, preparations for the kids' bedtime: pajamas, teeth brushing, potty using, water drinking, etc. Jack fell asleep in my arms while Daniel did the reading aloud of All Of A Kind Family; Bronwyn followed suit shortly thereafter and Gabriel... Well, Gabriel takes a long time to fall asleep every night, and he hates to break with tradition. (I've asked him.)

If you'd driven by our house at about 9:10pm (like they did), you would have seen Daniel and I sitting side-by-side on the futon in our family room. I was reading a book (code for dozing) and he was reading up on his beloved Pirates.

Not so very quality.

But sometimes a person (or people, in this case) is just too tired to have much to say. The exhaustion reaches a point at which the brain stops thinking any more than is absolutely necessary. In other words, my brain was saying, "Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out." It would have taken way too much energy to verbalize these thoughts.

By 9:30pm Daniel and I agreed that sometimes a date/family night just needs to be rest. So we went to bed, where my eyes closed and I lost consciousness simultaneously.

Of course, if Daniel and the kids had so desired, we could have had a grand ol' time in the middle of the night when I was wide awake.

You see, Jack woke around 2am, like he does every night. I fed him and put him back to bed. He fell asleep. I went back to bed, but I didn't fall asleep. I laid there. I tried not to move so as to not wake Daniel. I closed my eyes, but my mind still saw a million things. The wheels of my brain were turning fast, but I was getting nowhere in a hurry. I punched the pillow down. I pulled the blankets closer. I pictured myself sleeping in my mind's eye. But 4:30am rolled around and, along with it, Jack's #2 night feeding and the realization that I'd lost 2+ hours of precious and much-desired sleep.

Let's just say it's a good thing we aren't going to be doing much tonight, other than zombie-ing our way over to a little celebration of my oldest little sister, 'cause my brain activity will probably close resemble last night's--except that I'll be thinking that my parents must have lied to me about my birthdate (since insomnia isn't something 23-year-olds are known to be plagued by), in addition to the whole breathing thing.

I laid him down in the crib--a crib becoming all-together
familiar to him because of naps taken in it of late. But this time as I laid
him down, it was dark; only a small lamp on the first 3-way setting cast a
small glow about the big room.

But he’ll be so lonely,
I thought, unable to walk away.

That’s ridiculous,
came the practical response in me. His
brother and sister are right in the room with him; and, besides, he’ll be
asleep; how can he be lonely when he’s sleeping?

I’ve been lonely when
I’m in a crowd full of people, and I’ve been lonely when I’m asleep. So he can
be lonely, came my stubborn rebuttal. I gently rubbed his belly and admired
the big, soft eyes that gazed up at me.

He’s been so good about going to sleep, without even a
whimper, of late. It makes sense to move him from the too-small basket by my
bedside to the crib upstairs that’s been empty for several weeks now. It’s just
that I hate to do it. I know he’ll be okay. I know he really won’t know the
difference… not really.

But I’ll know the
difference.

I’ll know it like I knew it when I saw him inch his way
across the living room floor today. I’ll know it like I knew it as I watched
him laughing at his older brother’s antics. I’ll know it like I knew it when
I paused at the dinner table tonight long enough to really gaze upon my two
oldest children who are now able to carry on conversations and be silly with
one another.

Yes, he won’t mind that the close-to-Mama
bassinet-sleeping days are done, but I will. He doesn’t even know that we’ll
never get those nights back, and one day when he does know, he probably won’t
care. But I care… I care a whole, whole lot.

I’ve only been a Mama for three and a half years… so how can
my heart already hurt this much as I watch my children leave things behind?

A special friend just had her baby: a little girl. This is a special time for her.

And I can't be there.

There have been a number of times since moving away from this church and so many wonderful friends there that I have ached to be back. Like today.

Especially today.

Maybe it's because I saw her first two babies when they were new, and because she saw my first two babies when they were new. Maybe it's because we both got married young, and only weeks apart, and both moved to Pittsburgh after our weddings. Maybe it's because we always liked the same doctors (or midwives), have approached birth and children's health much the same ways, and have been staying at home with our children for almost the same exact number of days, let alone years. Maybe it's because she likes my cookies and I like her cooking. Maybe it's because we both have addictions to sale racks and quality children's clothing. Maybe it's because I feel comfortable when I'm with her. Maybe it's because we both eat the chocolate chips before they actually make it into the dough, and because we both think ice cream is a worthy meal-substitute. Maybe it's because our lives have matched for quite some time now. And maybe it's because today just shows that they continue to match in ways... except that we aren't only minutes from each other's homes any more.

Maybe it's all those things and more.

But I miss her. And I wish I could see her to tell her that, and to kiss her baby's soft head, and to bring her some Chunky Monkey, and to tell her in person that I'm so happy for her and that I know her path, which might seem it's absolute best right now, will only continue to grow brighter and brighter as long as she lives.

Congratulations, Stace.

It isn't because the high yesterday was 75*, or because the predicted high of today is only 70*--though these predictions were a factor. It isn't because I'm bored with summer clothes, or because Jackson has outgrown every 3-6 month article of clothing, including the beloved whale pants--though that did play a part. It isn't even because I'm overly eager in my good-byes to endless of weeks of 85* humid days, which I've never pretended to be fond of--though I can't say I'm being patient in bidding summer adieu, either.

Yesterday found me up to my elbows in children's clothing. The large bedroom belonging to my children was lost beneath a sea of cardboard boxes (you know the ones: the kind your mom used and, incidentally, the kind that's mold-proof), and I could scarcely be found behind the mountain of bags I was sorting through. Several lid-busting, side-bursting situations have now been
remedied, thankfully, and I finally have boxes for girl stuff besides the 3 that had only stored up to 18 month clothing, which means homes for all the 24 month and 2T clothing (and
corresponding shoes) that had been stuffed into garbage bags and shoved in
crooks and crannies of the closet up until now.

I had my pen and paper in hand, "just in case." I didn't really think I'd end up discovering an oversight in my clothing planning for the kids this fall and winter after receiving a sizeable amount of hand-me-downs and my shopping at Long Island outlets of late.

I was wrong.

Oh yeah… Snowsuits. Boots. Hats. Mittens… Oh. Yeah. I’m forever forgetting that stuff.

Why, you ask? Well, that’s simple: it's because I never liked playing outside. If as a
10-year-old girl I much preferred curling up with a book, can you really
picture me wanting to build a snowman as an almost-24-year-old mom? Uh… Nope! So it’s just not the first thing to cross my mind when thinking through clothing for
the kids.

Oh. And what about the underwear situation? Gabriel's been existing on 6 thin, albeit somewhat cute, pairs. Even if I can count the number of accidents he's had in his lifetime, they've still been washed to death just because there are 365 days in a year and he's been potty-trained for more than that length of time. The reason for not previously correcting this situation is somewhat humorous and extremely impractical: I'm an underwear snob. I’m not even picky about my own, but I don’t like buying
cheap underwear for my family. To this day, I’ve no idea where this quirk came
from. All I know is that it’s there. Unfortunately for me, I don’t live close enough to a Gap Kids or Gymboree to get the
nice stuff on sale; and since it would kill me to even consider buying the SpongeBob or Scooby-Doo briefs one finds at Wal-Mart, I just don't buy any at all.

(If you're wondering what to get the kids for Christmas, get
them some nice underwear. I’ll be thrilled and they’re too young to be
embarrassed.)

The other thing I always forget is sneakers. How could it have slipped my notice that Gabriel's big toe is almost poking a hole through his navy high-tops, let alone that I would have to do something to remedy this situation? He's got the ever-reliable ankle boots from Richard that work for church and all events decent. But playtime, once again, has been overlooked.

Jackson has enough pajamas for each day of the week (which actually might be good, at the rate he spits up all over himself), but he can't boast nearly as many socks. The hand-me-down coat will do the trick, as will the snowsuit (one down!), but what about a plain old pair of khakis? Cargo, chino--whatever! Just something that will match every shirt and sweater in his drawer and look decent for church, too. Sometimes I simply forget the basics.

Still, my afternoon of wading in clothes proved profitable. I'm not quite ready for fall, but then, we still have a solid month of summer left. And besides, that closet was a nightmare before, and now it's 4 stacks of clearly-marked boxes.

*sigh*

My son is getting old enough to have grumpy days. I don't like them.

That said, I dislike my grumpy days even more. Gabriel's sour puss is almost laughable, and it's definitely correctable. But I can hardly laugh at my own moodiness (that would be simply traitorous to my severe melancholy streak)--and my gracious husband can attest that it's usually best that others don't try to make me laugh either.

Yesterday I was rather Eyore-like all day long. It seemed that the world was caving in around me continually.

I tried hard to break out. In fact, when I first felt that give-up-and-go-to-sleep feeling creeping upon me, I immediately began employing the ACTS model we were charged on Sunday morning to utilize. I folded laundry and I adored. I washed the dishes and I confessed (that just might have been the longest portion of my prayer time, I am ashamed to admit). I nursed the baby and gave thanks. I vacuumed and was loud and sure in my supplications.

Maybe I'm the only person who has those kinds of days. You know, the kind when you see the battle before you and you fight to overcome your flesh, only to find that there seems to be extra opportunity and ammunition for the opposition and it kind of wears you down. Whether you have them or not, I do; and I had one yesterday.

Sometimes I just plain old forget that perfection won't be reached until I'm with Him forever. I forget that the ground is cursed and that the job done today will surely need to be done again tomorrow (or later today, since I have toddlers). The problem with forgetting this is only made worse by that old tendancy in me to look for validation and assurance through tasks performed well and completed.

At any rate, I've always thought that Eyore needed to meet Jesus. And I needed to meet with Jesus a whole lot yesterday.

The cool thing?

He meets with me. He doesn't care that I was wearing grungy clothes and never took time to put make-up on. He's not intimidated by my sharp tongue and lousy attitude. He doesn't recommend getting some things done so that I feel better about life before talking with Him. He just gets in the boat with me.

It's true: I stink; the boat is often messy; the un-caught fish sure do outnumber the caught fish; I'm discouraged. But He gets in the boat with me anyway.

And His words of life really do change it all. They change me.

Your mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens; Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Your righteousness is like the great mountains; Your judgements are a great deep; O Lord, You preserve man and beast. How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Your wings. They are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of Your house, And You give them drink from the river of Your pleasures. For with You is the fountain of life; In Your light we see light. Oh, continue Your lovingkindness to those who know You, And Your righteousness to the upright in heart.
~Psalm 36:7-10

I've no excuse for not getting pictures of our time visiting Pittsburgh and Aunt Judy on here before now, because we forgot our extra memory card and the cords for transferring pictures from camera to computer (limiting us to a whopping 32MB of photo space during our 9 days away from home), but I will make one anyway: I'm a tired mommy.

Here are some glimpses:

The right half of Aunt Judy's house

The girls (and, yes, Camilla really is that tall)


Bronwyn & Gabriel on the north shore


Walking the city streets (this shot cuts out Bronwyn in the front of the double stroller)


Looking at the Statue of Liberty (it looks like Daniel posed for this, but he really didn't)

Busy-Bee-Bronwyn

This picture is from today--just 'cause I thought they were cute:

For more pictures, go to Louissa's flickr account. She's the camera-girl.

Adoring My God...
    ...who holds the earth in His hands.
    ...because He is unchanging.
    ...because He is God and I am not.

Confessing...
    ...my selfishness and pride.
    ...how quickly I covet what I don't have.
    ...the wrong motivations of my heart.

Thanking Jesus for...
    ...being committed to my sanctification.
    ...the Cross and new life and His victory over death.
    ...His tenderness with me.

Supplicating the Holy Spirit...
    ...to purify His Bride
    ...for creativity and boldness to share the Gospel.
    ...for enablement to please Him today.

Re-occuring thoughts of the day:

1. Toddlers' behavior either improves or regresses; there is no neutral, unfortunately for me.
2. My good friend is due to have her baby sometime in the next couple weeks. Thinking of her produces many anticipatory thoughts concerning the baby (He? She?), as well as a continually half-twisted stomach.
3. Wearing socks is so very, very comfy.
4. My most practiced goal is to keep the house as clean as one in Better Homes & Garden, when really my hopes for my home ought to be much loftier.
5. Is it possible that Jackson's first teeth came through and he learned the military-crawl all in a brief weekend?

We're home.

And, other than feeling as though I could use a vacation in order to recover from vacation , I'm feeling satisfied. When we arrived back home at 11:15pm yesterday, the house smelled musty and stale, the refrigerator boasted few contents which made for a more scrambled than usual preparation for this morning's church service, the toilet was full of funky stains from sitting rust-filled water, etc.; and, yup, I was thrilled to be back. I love my house!

It took only minutes after arriving before I was peeking in the spare bedroom to confirm that, yes indeed, it is completely rid of all her belongings. I hadn't realized how familiar the funky pink lamp, the basket full of vitamins and supplements and the jewelry "doll" had become. She's off to discover Him in this next season of life, and we will continue to search for Him here.

I'm tired today. I only bought enough groceries while I was in Canton getting Chinese food for lunch to get us through the next couple days. Everything remains in suitcases except for toothbrushes and the like. I can't even convince myself that I would feel better if I vacuumed because, frankly, I'm too tired to even care!

It's in the tired moments that I'm particularly thankful for His promise that when we search for Him we'll find Him. He isn't a far-off God who is difficult to know and love. Rather, He's waiting for me this week: waiting to uncover His plans and purposes for my life.

Here at home.

An old colonial on the north shore.

London Broil, Fettucine, Grilled Salmon--to list just a few.

Sand dunes and big waves.

Tall buildings, bright ads, bustling streets.

Cappucinos and Target.

Loud conversation, favorite stories, comedic routines.

A special aunt.

I'm in Long (pronounced with a hard "g" when here, of course) Island. This is the first time I've been here in 8+ years... the first time I've been here since my dad's mom died... the first time I've laid eyes on my aunt's house--which is old and beautiful and quite the find 'round about these parts.

Yesterday we walked the streets of the city for hours. My feet were tired and my eyes sleepy by the time we concluded our hours of strolling, but my mind was full of things to consider and my heart deeply impacted by the world I live in.

I laid eyes on Ground Zero for the first time. My last tour of the city had included gazing up at the seemingly-endless buildings once marking the New York skyline and now represented by a huge hole in the ground a heartbreaking list of names.

I remembered, again, how many people He has made. So many walked by, ran by, drove by. And I found myself amazed by how intricate each one's life is... how important to the Father. I felt small. It was a good feeling. A knowing that He is so much bigger than I comprehend. A reminder that He Who holds us all in the palm of His hand is surely able to work out the details of my life and heart.

I walked through Chinatown and ate in Little Italy with my family. I love that going to the city can (and should!) include tastes of foreign countries. My passport may be expired with only a few stamps on it, but I've tasted a bit of other worlds without leaving my home state. That's cool.

I pushed strollers and held a sleeping infant. Most all of us "big" people had at least one opportunity for this. My children did well and loved their surroundings. There is much to see in this bustling world, so different from their own. And, knowing how many people He has made, I was once more thankful that He is allowing me to play such a big role in the lives of Gabriel and Bronwyn and Jackson.

In a couple days I will be back in my yellow house. I have enjoyed this little bit of traipsing. It only ever makes me happier to return to the place I call home.

Edit: Where else on earth would be the appropriate place for introductions with Starbucks?

For a yummy, crowd-pleasing, simple summer dessert, try making an ice cream cake (the following is based on using a 9" springform pan; if yours is bigger, adjust accordingly):

3/4 gallon of ice cream (a favorite flavor--or whatever's on sale )
oreos (if using a mint ice cream, I recommend the mint-filled oreos; if using a peanut butter ice cream, I recommend the peanut butter-filled oreos; if making a non-chocolate cake, get the vanilla oreos; etc.)
hot fudge or caramel sauce
extras: nuts, chocolate chips, crumbled cookies, whipped cream/cool whip, etc.

1. Scoop ice cream into a big bowl and allow to soften a bit--not too much or it will re-freeze funny (probably about 15 minutes or so)
2. Crumble a little less than 1/2 the oreos and press into the bottom of your springform pan
3. Spread half of the ice cream into the pan (it's easiest to use your hands to spread the ice cream, so it doesn't move your cookie-crust around)
4. Spread hot fudge or caramel sauce in a thick layer on the ice cream
5. Add whatever "extras" you want; even just some crumbled oreos is yummy
6. Spread the other half of the ice cream
7. Spread another layer of hot fudge or caramel sauce
8. Sprinkle whatever "extras" you want
9. Decorate with whipped cream/cool whip if desired

Re-freeze the cake for at least an hour. (Warning: your freezer will potentially get a bit messy, so either spread foil or wax paper... or relish the needed prompting to clean your freezer. )

To serve, remove side of pan and slice like a normal cake.

Trust me, people will love it!

Last night we celebrated my little girl's second birthday along with her little girl's second birthday. We had out-of-town family here so along with our in-town families we had a big (like 35+ people big) party for the two of them together. It was a blast watching two toddler girls remember how to open gifts (Christmas was a while back, you know!), give their best effort at saying "Thank you," in a way that we could all understand, chow down on the cake (and want more, of course!), and relish the other's gifts as much as their own.

Since I will be out of town myself on Bronwyn's actual birthday this Saturday, I thought this morning might be a good time to share some tidbits on her, my very special blessing:

--Bronwyn remains my easiest (I use this word lightly, of course!) birthing experience and holds a dear place in my heart because of this. On her birthday, I woke at 6am after a sleepless night to realize the sleepless night was not just another Late Pregnancy Sleepless Night, but labor. A little over 11 hours later, she arrived.

--from curly blonde hair to pouty full lips to loud cries and shrieks, this girl continues to closely resemble me as a toddler. Only time will tell how much she really looks like me, but for now there isn't much doubt that she is mine.

--everyday Bronwyn delights me by "reading" to herself and her baby dolls for extended periods of time. She memorizes story-lines and ideas so thoroughly that she really can re-tell the stories with amazing accuracy. Whether or not anyone but me can understand her heavy German accent is another thing!

--eating is one of my dear girl's favorite pastimes and I am fortunate that fruit and vegetables are her foods of choice. Even tomatoes and peppers disappear from her dinnerplate long before the meats and starches. Of course, if you want to make a really quick friend of her, buy her some chocolate. She has low tolerance for such "childish" candy as Smarties or fruit lollypops and will opt for a square of my Dove dark chocolate or, at the very least, M&Ms every single time!

--dresses, shoes, and purses are near and dear to Bronwyn's heart. The more the frills, the higher the heels and the more sparkly the bag, the better. Without a doubt, she can dish out the bruises as well as she can take them, but when it comes to apparel and accessories, she's as girlie as they come.

--lingering from "babyhood" is the pacifier she stubbornly clings to. Around here, we call it her "yeish." This is what she began calling them long ago and, unfortunately for us all, it's the name that has stuck. We all sound so intelligent now.

--I always had a "hunch" growing up that I would have a lot, if not all, boys
if/when I had children, so
when I was expecting Bronwyn, I figured I was having a boy. The
65%-sure sonogram prediction of "girl" couldn't sway my feeling that I
probably would give birth to another son (let's be honest: it probably wouldn't have swayed yours either). But the first time I saw her, I realized how much I'd wanted a girl someday. From that moment forward, I've not
had a doubt that she is a special gift--one I hadn't even known to ask
for--given to me directly from a good and gracious God. I love having a
girl.

Happy Birthday, sweetest Bronwyn-Girl! You are loved by many!

I love that no two babies are the same. Oh, there are similarities. Like mine: they all have the same hairline and the same toes; whether or not they all have the same mouth has been debated, but I kind of think they do. But in spite of the similarities, the bigger truth is that they're different.

They're different than your babies, too.

They don't look exactly the same, it's true. And--what's more--they don't act the same. Not as infants, not as toddlers. Even if they're siblings, and almost definitely if they're not.

They grow at different paces (and don't we mothers and doctors fuss about this?!). Sizing clothing by "months" is most convenient, I suppose, but more inaccurate than not.

They develop differently. Like mine: Gabriel crawled at 6 months. Bronwyn didn't crawl until she was 8 months. Jackson... well, if the pattern tells true, he'll crawl when he's 10 months, but any time is just fine with me--though I sure wouldn't mind putting the mobility on hold so that he clings to me for just a little bit longer.

And they turn into people who are different from one another. I like this.

I'm glad my God is a God of creativity and variety. His art reaches far beyond the amazing sunset I saw last night as our family made our way home. His imagination is much bigger than the multitudes of animals that inhabit our earth and play in my backyard. He doesn't just stick to painting "scenery," though I sure do love the fields of corn with trees and far mountains in the backdrop. He's so much more than unafraid to shape people: He loves it.

He thought up my three wonders, with all their differences of appearance, personality, preferences, and needs. And it's in the differences that we see the one common thread throughout all of humanity: we were created.

I love that.

So I melted my first pacifier.

Not bad, considering I've been sterilizing them on the stove [almost] daily for the past six months.

But pretty bad when you get a whiff.

Ick.

Also:

Since the rule is that the washer gets to keep any monies found while doing laundry, does this mean that I get to keep Daniel's wallet, and all its contents (which sometimes don't amount to much, but today do), too?

Summer Fun!

Jack on the beach (notice Daniel, Gabriel & Bronwyn in background)


Bronwyn, sticking close to Daddy


Gabriel "swimming"


A big hole in the sand became Gabriel's "bathtub"--lovely, I know


Bronwyn and her "buck and shubble"


Jack trying out the water--skeptical at first, pleased at last

I was beginning to wonder why there is sweat dripping off my nose as I sit and do absolutely nothing. But then I checked this, and realized why.

The "Feels Like 111°F" would be the very understandable reason.

You know it's hot when...

...diapers are suddenly approved as apparel.

...Canton's entire population is in P&C--not because they're buying groceries but because they are desperate for AC.

...the bag of chocolate chips has melted in your kitchen cupboard.

...people who like summer are complaining.

...I'm sitting next to this laptop instead of holding it on my lap.

...my last ditch effort at locating a beach umbrella to buy resulted in hearing, "I'm sorry; I sold our last one this morning."

...nobody's on the golf course between the hours of 8am and 7pm.

Still, have you heard me wish we ourselves had AC?

Nope. Because I don't.

But I am planning on hitting up the beach as soon as the kids wake up from the nap they are taking on my bed (where they benefit from the cooler temperatures of a shaded room and a ceiling fan)!