State holiday

Friday was a state holiday. My university was officially closed. For weeks, I have been secretly smiling, thinking of all the great work I would finally accomplish on that Friday when everything else was canceled. No meetings, no students dropping by, no seminars. Closed. Building locked. Halls dark. And me, in the secret cool of my office, writing papers like mad. I was so looking forward to Friday.

But alas. As it was a state holiday, the daycare decided to close. And as Tim is employed in another state, he had regular meetings all day long, and tasks to accomplish.

So, since my university was officially closed, I swapped the day of writing in the cool dark for a day of trying to work while building with legos on Jonathan's bedroom floor, followed by an afternoon at the local swimming pool with all the hoards of people who also had the day off. After all. I guess it was more fun than writing, but now I have this large dark thing hanging over my head, and its name is guilt.

In the evening, we picked up my giant little brother, and drove 50 miles north to the city where my parents live. After a nice meal, and some birthday cake, we drove further into town and found parking near a baseball field, where they would be shooting fireworks into the sky to celebrate the fact that my university was closed for the day.

We arrived 2.5 hours early, and found nice spots to park our cars and spread our blankets. It was hot, but dry and getting cooler. We played cards on a blanket under a tree. After four games, we had killed 1/2 hour. Two hours still to go.

Then we took the kids to the playground, where they played until the sun had set into gray gloom. One hour still to go.

Then we lit sparklers, until Mark started crying and Jonathan nearly poked a lady in the eye. 30 minutes still to go.

Then I bought glow sticks, three for a dollar, one for each child. The baby tried to poke herself in the eyes and nose and mouth. The 2 year old tried to poke the baby in the eyes and nose and mouth. And Jonathan wanted to trade colors with the 2 year old. Yeah like that was ever going to happen.

And then, before the glow stick game dissolved into complete tears and chaos, some official lit the fireworks just 100 feet away in the ball park. The first few fireworks were noise rather than light, and glow sticks were abandoned in screams of terror and tears, and my sister became a ball of crying children. Jonathan, however, was in happy awe. We hadn't taken him this close to fireworks before.

After 15 minutes, the 2 year old had peeled himself off of my sister's arm, although the baby still whined unhappily. Grandma sat happily on the blanket next to the little ones. Grandpa peered at the sky, putting bets on the color of the next explosion. Jonathan and Tim were comparing favorites ("I like the ones that crackle after they explode"), and the giant little brother must have been sitting quietly enjoying the show, because I don't remember anything from him.

The fireworks ended as all fireworks shows should -- with spots on the backs of my retinas and a ringing in my ears. We gathered blankets and lawnchairs and children. And then walked the few blocks back to the cars. Then drove through post-firework traffic and foot traffic back to Grandma's house. And then screamed through tooth-brushing and jammy-dressing and good-nighting as children and parents tend to do when it's four hours past bedtime.

I then rolled around uncomfortably for much of the night on the foam mattress on the floor. It was very cold. Mom and Dad, you need to turn up the temperature up on your AC. I woke up with a cold head and a stuffy nose.

Saturday dawned early and cranky and a little ill. The plan: fabulous family outing to the temple open house. Everyone dressed up and changed diapers and brushed teeth and drove 50 minutes through the bright heat. We followed the mobs through the building ("we expect over 20,000 visitors today," said a volunteer), earned a cookie, and learned that "Oquirrh" is a native American word. Goodbye to parents and sister and sister's babies and giant little brother. Time to drive further north to Tim's parents' house for more birthday cake.

We then spent one and a half hours in the car in dress clothes, in the hot and the bright. Tim kept turning off the AC. I kept turning it back on -- and cranking up the volume. We were driving in a mobile solar oven. I didn't want to cook.

Tim, on the other hand, said he was cold. Cold? He had spent the night on the mattress in my parents' basement with the AC jacked way up without even a blanket. That was cold. Spending an afternoon inside a solar oven going about 55 miles per hour? Not cold.

We arrived in a hungry, pre-migrainal stupor, and headed to lunch. Happily fed, we returned to the in-law's house for delicious cake and ice cream, followed by activity: we all crashed on the couch and watched a Sponge Bob marathon. Sponge Bob marathon ended when I declared myself physically ill and Tim declared we needed to get home for a reasonable bedtime and Jonathan declared that he wanted more Sponge Bob and Grandma and Grandpa declared we were welcome to stay for dinner, but we all admitted the thought of food made us feel like hurling.

Back into the solar oven. My head hurt and my eyes were heavy. Tim surreptitiously turned off the AC when my eyes were closed. My skin began baking off my bones. I opened my eyes and turned the AC back on. He turned down the blower. I turned it back up. He turned it off again. I thought, I will be the bigger person. I will just go to sleep and the heat will not bother me. The heat began buzzing in my head, boiling in my veins, clenching my muscles in fire irons and shouting in my ear, "Be the bigger person!" until I was sure I would explode. Instead, I turned the AC back on.

Two hours later, after picking up and dropping off my giant little brother again, we pulled into our driveway. After some screaming and teeth brushing and pajamas and even a quick story, we put the boy to bed just one hour late. I did some work. Then pushed aside the guilt for a moment to let you all know about our fabulous state holiday.

I am hot and exhausted.

But it's not about me.

Sometimes.

[And thank you grandmas, we did have a very nice time. And if this post sounds a little cranky, it isn't because we didn't enjoy seeing you, but because somehow my husband's internal temperature control is completely screwed up, and because my son needs more sleep, and now I have to go write for a while.]