Yesterday, the weather was sunny, warm, and perfect. 

As we left for Malcolm’s baseball game at 6 PM, I grabbed a hooded sweatshirt, worrying, “Will this be enough?”  Chris assured me it would.  After all, the air was still balmy.  The car was roasting.  The sun was strong when we arrived.

I knew that before long, I would regret not bringing a blanket or a winter coat….because our Little League compound has a micro-climate that always registers 20 degree chillier than the rest of the county.  It’s like a Bermuda Triangle of atmospheric pressure.  All heat is somehow sucked out of the air.  And it affects ONLY adults. 

All the boys playing baseball in their short-sleeved jerseys are unfazed.  All the little siblings running around in their shorts and flimsy T-shirts, with zero percent body fat, eating water ice?  Not a shiver in sight.  (same syndrome as opening week of the swimming pool).  It’s the parents who freeze.

Case in point,  three mothers of brothers wishing for a bonfire, while their sons play ball with nary a goosebump.

I’m older than Kristen and Jane, shivering with me in this photo, so I speak only for myself when I say “Where’s a good series of hot flashes when you need them?” 

I actually WANT my body to turn instantly into a hormone-powered kiln when I’m at the Little League fields.  But what do I get?  No cooperation.

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