Ninety degree must be an understatement, I moan internally, as we trudge through the muggy afternoon air toward the park.
G, however, cares not about extreme temperatures, so he rides his bike full force a few dozen feet in front E's slowly moving stroller.
We play for about five minutes after arriving, and E toddleruns to his stroller and stretches out beneath his sun shade.
G and I play for three more minutes before I declare that I am absolutely parched and need some water before I fall face-first on the grass and need G to push both his brother and me home in the stroller.
G sighs and reluctantly resigns his play and boards hi bike so we can head back home for water.
Upon entering the house, we're met with a draft of humid air.
I groan, feel the top layer of a tshirt from my drenched skin and declare that the humidity is as thick as a rainforest's and that air conditioning must.happen.now.
I flip the switch for AC, and G and I go about the house closing all the doors and windows only to reconvenine in the living room and wonder where on Earth his little brother has gone.
We search the kitchen and the bathroom and the laundry room, and there's no sign of E.
G ventures toward the stairs to continue our manhunt and calls, "Mom! I found him. Come look!"
I venture toward his voice, and there's my baby ...
sprawled across the AC vent, slightly smirking, quietly basking in all of its chilly glory.
He has such a flare for dramatics, my youngest guy -- wonder where on Earth he got it from.