Children, Life
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A FAB Summer

I am not one to complain about the weather – unless it is too cold, too hot, or too wet.

I have yearned for a long hot summer since the last one, back in 2006.

I remember it so clearly.

Lovely long lunches with the Greek God(zilla), drinking rose in the sunshine, leisurely strolls along the canal hand in hand, late nights spent hanging out in the garden just chatting.

Although, our relationship was still very new then.  We were still (officially) living separately,  and Zachy was not yet even a twinkle in his father’s eye.

As the years have passed, our summers have diminished to all but a few days per year, if we are lucky.  The first sight of a patch of clear blue sky is all it takes for us to leap up off the sofa and run to the supermarket to stock up on barbecue coals and Pimms.

Since having Zachy, a bright sunny day has been our cue to pack a picnic for the park and cover ourselves in factor 50.  We don’t like to waste a moment of the gorgeous warm weather being inside the house, so plan day trips out and relax the rules on ice-cream before lunch.

This little tease of summer for a day or so, here and there, has made us feel nostalgic for summers past.

We reminisce about 2006 like it was a beautiful Greek island holiday, but we have forgotten what a hot summer is really like without a cooling sea breeze on your face, or a crystal clear sea to dive into.

It is sweaty, and I don’t mean in a smug ‘I’ve just been to the gym’ kind of way.  Being a woman of cleavage, I have taken to wringing pools of water out of my bra every night when I get home from work, much to the Greek God(zilla)’s horror.

Then, to stop my thighs from the inevitable chaffing, I have reintroduced leggings back into my wardrobe, which reminds me of being pregnant.  Although I actually feel even hotter now than I did then, and I mean this literally in the temperature sense of the word ONLY.

In fact, today I am wearing maternity leggings, as they are a bit kinder on the enormous fold of skin that still hangs over my c-section scar and attracts moisture like a sponge.

All this stickiness does not bode well for a comfortable night’s sleep either.  The last time I slept in 33-degree heat like this, was in an air-conditioned apartment in Crete, a few feet away from the beach.  Our duvet has long been discarded, but our bedroom still feels like a sauna.  Even an accidental brush of the Greek God(zilla)’s arm against mine during the night, will be enough to make me want to stand under a cold shower until dawn breaks.

We tried sleeping with the windows open for a few nights, but the noise kept us awake more than the heat did.  Zachy has also been melting in his bed so has taken to climbing in with us around 2am, which makes it all much more bearable, as I am sure you can imagine… yeah, not so much.

But it is not just the sweat.

It only takes a glimmer of sunshine for Zachy to assume it is ice-lolly time.  He asks for a FAB when he wakes up feeling hot in the middle of the night, when I ask him what he would like for breakfast/lunch/dinner, every time we go the park, and sometimes just because we have walked past the freezer.

If we were on holiday, I would probably let him have an ice-cream every day but after 3-weeks or so of summer and with the promise of a few more weeks to come, I had to draw the line somewhere.

So, I have started restricting his FAB intake to weekends only with the occasional weekday treat if he has been particularly well-behaved and there is enough time to burn the sugar off before bedtime.

However, he does not make it very easy for me to say no to him.  He will not accept the decision gracefully and will give me 20 different reasons why he disagrees, then if I still say no, he will tell me that I am not listening to him.

HE.IS.THREE.

He also knows that I will not back down.

One day last week, after another debate over why he could not eat a FAB in his bed at 7.25pm, he played what he thought was his final trump card.

The only possible way left he could think of to get the ice lolly he so desperately craved.

In between tears and throwing himself on the floor, he looked at me and in between sobs said:

“I.just.want.to.go.to.Nana.and.Grandad’s.house.”

*****

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4 Comments

  1. we love a FAB in the HPMcQ household, so if you refused us one we would surely slam ourselves on the floor and demand to go to nana and grandads house too!
    HPMcQ recently posted…she is goneMy Profile

  2. I am having to do the clamp down on ice cream thing with Little A too (while I have a sneaky mouthful behind her back). And the summer of ’06 was very, very hot indeed….. and I seem to remember the summer of ’96 being really glorious too or was that ’95? X.
    older mum in a muddle recently posted…Out to LunchMy Profile

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