Our record high this year was 108 degrees Fahrenheit. That was on September 25. It's about all the effect we got from Hurricane Rita, besides mild wind, gas and grocery shortages, and tens of thousands of evacuees.
This morning we woke up to 57 degrees. We had gone to sleep with the windows open, so I padded around at 6:30am closing them and pulling more blankets on the kids. It felt GREAT! I had on shorts and a thin long sleeve shirt. Stephen put on his usual t-shirt and shorts.
Then the Texans woke up. Born and raised Texans, our kids are the offspring of Yankees. We're people who swam in 57 degree water in the Atlantic. Sure it was cold, but that was the point, right? Cooling off!
This morning the Texans (our kids) put on pants and long sleeved shirts. Then jackets. Then knit hats (one put on a ski mask). Then mittens. I checked the indoor thermometer. It was 66.
We giggled at them, and I recalled one early summer in Rhode Island, when I was about 10. My brother and I desperately wanted to play with our new slip-and-slide. We begged my mom, who, after much pestering, finally agreed that we could play with it when the temperature hit 70. So we stood around in our bathing suits, peering at the thermometer and hoping for it to inch up just a bit.
All depends on your perspective, eh?