Small wars

I’ve been wrestling with an idea all weekend.  I thought it would come right out, but it hasn’t.  I’m sick of writing fluff; I want to delve deeply into topics and inspire thoughtful conversation.   This one just won’t untangle into an intelligible thread.   Gotta love writers’ problems.  Too broad a topic, or too narrow?  Am I staying on track?  What am I trying to say, anyway?  And I’m tired.  It’s hot outside.  My knee hurts.  My elbow hurts.  I gotta go to the bathroom….

Sorry – that last little bit is my favorite line from the cartoon movie Up.   The kids or I will recite it anytime anyone begins complaining.

Everybody’s talking about the heat.  My mom just called to say that when she left work at the end of the day, the car thermometer read 120 degrees.  Good grief!!  I realize Phoenix, AZ is not known for mild weather, but still!  My older son and I went outside for a few minutes today and he wilted before my eyes.  I know I didn’t look much better, but I brought a glass of ice water outside with me.

The younger boys got invited to go play baseball as we came in.  I wouldn’t have considered playing sandlot ball in the heat of the day, but they went.  They were back within a half hour, red in the face, hair sticking up from sweat, explaining that the other kids had to leave.  They almost sounded relieved.

Then they disappeared again.  I always know that if the house goes quiet, they’re either burning down the side yard or doing something else incredibly fun.   Either way, I usually join in.   This time, though, due to space restrictions on the play zone, I just took some photos and thought about how much we still miss our pool at the old house.

Hank hates being left out of anything.

And Sheba would rather not be involved if they’re going to play rough.

I’m pretty much with her.   If this topic doesn’t pull together pretty quick, it’s going to hit the trash bin.   There’s nothing more humiliating than getting whooped by my own idea.

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