It’s bastard hot.
And also that time of year when I realise I should have bought a fan after the last time it got bastard hot and I didn’t get around to buying a fan.
And it’s all very lovely, all the barbeques and paddling pools and balmy evenings and all that jazz, but there are a few things that get right on my tits when the weather gets like this.
And I don’t just mean boob sweat.
Now, I know it’s a rather predictably British of me to do so, but whilst it’s so bastard hot I’m afraid I do find myself moaning rather alot about the fact that it’s… well… so bastard hot.
Too Hot To Handle?
I’m not a total misery guts. I do actually like this time of year. I love hanging out in the garden during the Summer months, I really do! It’s just that there are a few odd things which catch me out and put the dampeners on my enjoyment this time of year.
And when I say a few, I really mean a plethora. Since becoming a Mum my list has multiplied substantially. So much so, in fact, that I have created my very own A-Z of errors to cover my biggest hot weather gripes.
The A-Z of Summertime errors (which catch me out every time)
A is for: Arses (bare)
It’s boiling hot, you’re out in the garden with the sprogs, the paddling pool is filled and the factor 50 has been slathered. No point keeping a nappy on your toddler really is there? It’s not the end of the world if she has a bit of a wee on the patio…
No. No, it’s not. But when she emerges from the wendy-house with suspiciously brown toes, I’ll immediately rue this moment of frivolous recklessness.
At this point I must gird my loins, hold my breath, and grab the hose, spraying down the entire area (child included), whilst praying that I avoid any poopy pebbledash on my bare legs during the process.
B is for: Boob sweat
Ugh. Why is this even a thing? I must remember to spray a bit of deoderant on my under-bap region in the mornings on those extra roasty days.
C is for: Chloasma
Chloasma, or ‘the mask of pregnancy’, is a skin condition triggered by pregnancy hormones which leads to hyperpigmentation when exposed to sunlight. Sometimes it goes away after you’ve had the baby, but for lucky old me, after #3 came along, the chloasma stuck around.
The upshot of this is that every summer I break out in weird brown blotches on my face which make me look a bit like a chimney sweep street urchin extra from ‘Oliver’.
At this point I remember the bastard chloasma thing and resolve to wear a big floppy hat. Sadly, once exposed, my skin remains a sort of mottled beige until the end of Summer.
D is for: Dog drool on bare legs
Even if I wanted to elaborate on this one I couldn’t. I just did a bit of sick in my mouth thinking about it.
E is for: Early risers
On those warm Summer evenings, after a long day of playing in the padding pool, not eating barbequed sausages because of the ‘black bits’, and redecorating the patio with chalk drawings of bums and willies (their latest trend, guaranteed to send them into fits of hysterical laughter for hours on end), the children are knackered and don’t put up too much of a fight when it comes to bedtime.
Then, as I leave the room after all the good nights and requests for cheesestrings (denied) and more stories (negotiated) I opt to throw open their windows with wild abandon, in an attempt to keep their rooms cool.
I have found that the effects of blackout blinds and gro-clocks are often utterly undermined by
a.) Gusts of wind blowing the blinds open and flashing the blisteringly early dawn light into their sleeping faces
b.) The dawn sodding chorus.
c.) The wafting smell of bin juice and incongruously chirpy chatter of the bin men coming to noisily empty my rubbish at 6 o’clock in the bastard morning..
F is for: Fan – lack of
Every. Bastard. Year.
G is for: Garden furniture malfunctions
We really need some new garden furniture. We have done for years. And yet I can’t quite bring myself to part with the cash needed to stump up for it when we only ever use it for a few months of the year.
I only ever see the holes in my argument against such expenditure when we are outside all the time, and I am besieged by distraught children with splintery bums and scraped knees from tumbling off rickety chairs.
H is for: Hot (in bed)
And not in a saucy, fun, way.
It’s just too bastard hot in bed.
See F. And possibly B.
I is for: Ice Cream
I love a good ice cream, me. However I do not like the inevitable finger-shaped sticky patches that consequently appear on every conceivable surface of my house as a result.
J is for: Jealousy
“Muuuuum! He stole my bucket!”
“Muuuuuuuuum! Her ice lolly is less melty than mine!”
“Muuuuuuuuuuuum! It’s MY Turn to turn the hose on!”
And so on and so on, ad infinitum until I want to tear my own ears off in protest.
K is for: Knackered
See H, and then E.
L is for: Legs (shaving of)
I’m way too
lazy busy for this shit, but I’m also way too hirsute to bare them. And waaaaay too hot to cover them up, so it must be done.
M is for: Maxi-dress (search for the perfect)
Every year I realise that what I really need is a decent maxi-dress to keep me cool and hide all my squidgy bits. Every year I go online to search for the perfect garment. Every year I fail to find it, and instead accumulate a variety of shapeless items which only serve to make me look dumpier than the one I bought the year before.
If anyone knows where these unicorn-like specimens can be bought IRL, please point me in their direction, because I am starting to doubt their existence.
N is for: Nagging
This is an all year round proclivity, only slightly more favourable than banging my head against a brick wall. The problem is that during a heatwave we are either outside or inside with every window wide open, where my neighbours can hear every decibel of my loudest Mum-roar with spectacular clarity.
If you live on my street, please do not call Childline. Feel free to come over and check my kids are ok if you’re worried, as long as you bring wine.
O is for: Overtired, overheated and oversugared (kids)
Oh dear God what has happened to my children and why have they metamorphosed into a screeching tribe of miniature velociraptors?
P is for: Paddling pool
Getting the paddling pool out on a hot day seems like a great idea. However, assuming that I even manage to get it out, hose it off and fill it without discovering a puncture, I then realise two things.
Firstly, my kids will steadfastly refuse to get in for about 4 hours because the water is too cold.
Secondly, within minutes of finally getting in, the water develops a greasy sunscreeny film, and begins to accumulate earth, twigs and insects at a surprising rate.
Thus, after one day’s use I’m faced with the choice between emptying out the lot, only to repeat the same process the next day, or let it sit for my kids to wallow in stagnant filth the next day.
Q is for: Quiet – (lack of peace and)
This is the only time of year where I can find no respite from the pandemonium by asking my kids to ‘use their inside voices’.
R is for: (Ratty kids)
S is for: Soggy nappies
In an effort for prevent another wendy-house poop incident I resolve to keep the nappy on the toddler. Except she will still want to play in the water, obvs. Then she will ‘surprise’ me by waddling over and sitting down heavily on my midsection whilst I’m sunbathing with her sodden and explosive ice-cold soggy nappy.
T is for: Tan (fake)
My body is a frankenstein-like variety of natural pigments. in addition to the whole blotchy face thing, my arms and shoulders go brown at the drop of a hat, and yet my legs remain glow-in-the-dark white regardless of the amount of sun they get.
The only way to redress the balance is by slapping on a bit of fake tan. Which is fine. Except that my slapdash approach inevitably leads to smears and blobs on the knobbly bits, and suspiciously pale patches on the backs of my thighs from sitting down too soon after application.
U is for: Underarm squidge (and other squidgy bits)
Because it’s so bastard hot it’s that time of year where I can either broil away under too much clothing or bare all in whatever shapeless summer acoutre I can mustre and hope no-one pays much attention to the squidgy bit under my arms and above my bra strap.
Why do I have squidge in such weird places?! WHY?!!!!
V is for: Volatile moods
There’s nothing like a hot day with loads of over-exuberant outdoors playing and sugary ice creams to amplify my children’s mood swings. By the time it gets to about 4pm all three of them are ricocheting from unbridled hilarity to abject rage like a trio of drunken jilted brides-to-be propping up the bar on their wedding night.
W is for: Wine
Because after all this, I’m going to need a drink.
Strangely, that’s one thing that tends not to catch me out these days. And I’m going to take that as a win.
X, Y & Z –
I literally cannot think of a single Summer-related thing beginning with these letters, frankly I’m too hot and cranky to bother right now, but you get the idea.
Happy Summer, Motherlovers
Did you like this blog post? Give some of my other shizzle a whirl too, you might find this one particularly amusing if your kids are of an age where you find yourself running the children’s party gauntlet every weekend.
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