Okay, this is the last of my quickie posts. Promise.
My missionary son has no sympathy for the fact that my a/c is broken. He says he doesn't even remember what a/c feels like, and at least it's not 110 here.
He's right, I know. I have no right to complain. The thought of him in that sweltering heat for two solid years really does make me physically hurt for him. I think about it every time I even start to grumble and it brings me up short.
So let me say in a little teeny voice that it may not be 110 degrees, but it's hot enough for a blasted wildfire to get out of control in the backyard. And I may not have to walk 25 miles a day, uphill both ways, (okay, I'm kidding with the uphill, but he does sometimes do the 25 mile thing, makes me want to cry...I can't even imagine) BUT (Oops, that mother sensitivity thing almost made me lose my train of thought, and this is me not complaining, not me sympathizing...anyway...) my knee is in a brace and sore and the kitchen and laundry room are upstairs but the only cool room is downstairs so I either have to stay in the heat or keep going back and forth on the stairs with a stiff achy leg and the repairman couldn't do anything today so I have to either spend the night on a concrete floor in the basement or in my hot bedroom and I can't sleep anyway because of the knee situation and we just got back from a week at Bear Lake and I haven't even unpacked and the kids started school yesterday, the day after we got home, so they've been too busy to be much help but I can't stand to be upstairs because of the heat even if I could move around on my knee so everything's just a disaster up there. Whew.
But I know it could be worse. Way worse. So I'm not complaining.