Holy heatwave, Batman!! I just checked my little WeatherBug program on my PC, and it's officially 102 degrees in beautiful downtown Raleigh as of 3 p.m. Let's see, with the humidity at 150 percent, that makes the heat index . . . TOO DAMN HOT!!! Just going outside for a smoke is getting dangerous. Take that humid, hot air, add cigarette smoke, and what do you get? I don't know, but it ain't pretty.
I just hope it gets cooler tomorrow. The better half and I, along with J, P and M, are heading to Busch Gardens for a day of fun. It's an "office outing" (no, not THAT kind of outing!), so a bunch of folks from my office will be there also. It should be fun; heck, if it weren't for the office paying for this, there's no WAY I could afford to take my bunch anywhere like that. Have you seen the ticket prices for theme parks lately? Anyway, once the kids fill up on all the fun at Busch Gardens, we're all gonna spend the night in Meryl's
new neck of the woods (Richmond, VA) and then try to catch a couple of museums on Sunday afternoon. The better half sent off for a Richmond tourist guide, and right away I noticed that there is a train museum in Richmond. Now, J is a total train freak. I mean total, as in he wants to work on a train when he grows up. That will probably be one of the stops we make. Heck, it might be the only stop we make. I get the funny feeling that once we get in the door, it will take dynamite to get J to leave.
I can hear some of you (all right, one of the two) out there saying, "You don't mean you're taking those little babies out in the heat, do you??" Not to worry. One of the things about being foster parents is that you are entitled to something called respite, which means that once a month you can farm the foster kids out to other foster parents for the weekend. We usually don't bother, but in this case we took advantage of the respite thing and have farmed out all the kids except our own. I was trying to get the better half to farm them out, too, but she wouldn't go for it. Damn.
I'll fill you in next week (maybe) on how well it went and if I survived the weekend. Hmmm . . . let's just say, if you don't hear from me, it means I didn't survive. Or that I did survive but am now a slobbering wreck locked in a rubber room. Gee, sounds like being a work, doesn't it?