It has been wretchedly hot here still.
Every day when I walk to the elementary school to get Edmond, I curse California and this drought and the heat and the sweat dripping down my back.
The kids swam in our pool this afternoon and normally that would make me feel happy that we can still use the pool in October, but this heat is so dry and incessant and the fields have been yellow and brittle for months and months and this summer is never going to end.
I ache for Utah and the crisp autumn air and mountains with changing leaves and snow capped peaks.
Every morning I run my hand across my leather boots and patterned scarves with longing, only to have to settle for my shabby summer clothes that are covered in knit balls and Old Navy flip flops that shrunk from the heat of the sun when I left them on the patio and now my heels hang off the back.
I told my husband today that I was done with this place (California, that is) and he said I can't be because we live here. What the heck is that supposed to mean? I didn't want him to respond with logic. If I'm done, I'm done, and we should just leave. So there.

