"How Could Hell Be Any Worse?"

If you've gotten anywhere near anything resembling news lately you know that it's really hot outside. Of course, you probably already knew that unless you're tied up in some sadist's basement — in which case, the weather is the least of your problems.

When I was in college, I remember hearing a lecture in my geography class about how we humans (particularly overweight, oafish Westerners) were progressively conditioning ourselves to be unable to tolerate the weather on the planet upon which we live. (For the record, this professor was French, but he was absolutely right.)

At the time, it was the dead of summer in lower Alabama (aka: the third ring of Hell), and I was living in a horribly insulated apartment, with two second-rate window units to provide air conditioning and walking to class, 30 minutes each way, and was driving a car without A/C. I immediately understood his point. Even though the temperatures were hovering near 100 degrees each day, I often walked to class in jeans as my body had learned to tolerate the heat. Plus, in the years before I left for school, I'd been living with a friend with whom I'd participate in an annual contest to see who could go the longest each summer before turning the A/C on. By the way, our last summer as roommates, I was the one who caved...in late July.

While my classmates, friends and family members were complaining about the opppresive heat (or bemoaning my resistance to decrease our household air temperature to less than 85 degrees), I'd barely noticed the heat. My body had simply adapted, just as I'm sure as happened to those poor sods who work with road tar in the summer.

Once I graduated from school, though, my tolerance for the heat diminished with each passing summer until I became just like you — hunched over the air conditioning vents in my car, cursing at the sweat dripping down my eyebrows into my eyes.

With Connor's addition to outside play (and irresponsible shows such as Sesame Street encouraging him to get out EVERY DAY!!), we've spent plenty of time out of doors this year.

The result? I typically feel like a roasted pig at the end of the day, but he's so worn out he usually naps for 3-4 hours each day.

I'd say that's a fair trade.