So it got chilly here, finally. And when I mean chilly, I mean in the 50's. My Arizona, "ack! It's down in the seventies here! I need a sweater!" sister will understand.
So Sarge was working, and I really didn't want to turn on the heat. I hate that smell of the first time it's turned on after a season off, and I just wanted him here for that. So I told the kids to put on warm pajamas and socks and make sure they had plenty of blankets. When I went to bed, I bundled up in my flannel and wool socks and brought out two extra blankets. We were ready for a blizzard. In the house.
So I wake up in the morning, all cozy and warm, proud of myself for not turning on the heat. Wow! We'll really do well turning down the heat this winter! Hot Dog! My nose was a little cold, and I certainly didn't want to get out of bed, but we were still alive!
And then I looked at the thermostat. It was sixty-nine degrees in the house. Umm, yeah. How on earth am I going to make it through the winter?