Well, it's official. Summer is here in Hampton Roads. It's freaking HOT, too - over 100º the last few days. Without AC in the car or house, well, we've been pretty dang miserable. I'm surprised it hasn't killed the pets. Anyway, this week, Chloë is going to Imagimazing Camp Beverly Hills out in deep Chesapeake. She started Monday and has gone twice so far. They have been swimming and boating, playing games, and generally having a ball. She's enjoying herself. I'm glad, because I'm going to put 250 miles on the van with all those round-trips, by the end of the week!
The pool is closed on Mondays, so Rob set up the little Barbie pool that Jack gave Sophia for her birthday in April. At last; they have been begging for it for an age.
The ice cream truck came by while all three children were flopping about in the pool, and I happened to have seven bucks in my wallet, so what the hey. Ice cream for everyone! They were out of EVERYTHING that we wanted, though. Hello? Stock up, man. Stupid.
Ah, summer. The ice cream truck was a big part of my childhood, too - whenever we visited Grandma and Grandpa, Grandma would take us to the pool every week day and we'd get to go pick out an ice cream when the truck stopped at the pool. Every single day. I think? At least, that's how I remember it.
That boy was SUCH a mess by the time it was all said and done!
The kids went RIGHT back into the pool when they half-assedly cleaned themselves up after their ice creams were eaten.
Unfortunately, our nice evening was cut short when the bike Rob was messing with gave him a rather nasty bite. Blood gushed out all over the place. I knew I'd be driving him to the hospital after he cursed, hissed, and said, "That's gonna leave a mark."
We spent several hours at the ER waiting for him to get his five stitches. That particular one, to which I drove, is normally like the fast-food restaurant of hospitals, but it was surprisingly packed and slow that night. The kids were starving; I had to break down and go to The Evil Empire McDonald's for dinner. I made the mistake of eating a McNugget or two myself, and I retched a couple of times in the parking lot for my folly. Just can't eat that crap; the pouch vehemently rejects it!
Anyway, Rob: he refused pain meds and was therefore in a great deal of agony on Monday night, but he was able to ride his Beemer to work on Tuesday. It's hurting a lot less now. He'll live. It was a nasty slice, though, and we think maybe he hit a nerve. That's what he gets for messing with the bike when he was supposed to be working on our garden!! Chloë and Sophia were very sympathetic about their Daddy's accident, but Jack just whined, "I don't wanna go to the hospital, I wanna stay in the pooooool." Gee, thanks, Son.
And that, my friends, was Monday.
P.S. I realize Summer started more than a week before this, but I needed a blog title. Sue me. :P