I’m cold. It’s 73 degrees inside my house and I feel like I’m in a meat locker.
There is this ongoing battle in our house for temperature control. It’s a nasty one too…with all sorts of mock guilt trips being tossed around like salmon at a fish market. The problem? Chris is perpetually sweating-to-the-oldies hot at any temperature above 67. I am perpetually hell-just-froze-over cold at any temperature below 77. And so, we both end up being perpetually uncomfortable because the definition of “compromise” always means lose/lose at our house.
In the battle of wills, that Chris is a wiley one.
I woke up a couple of mornings ago to all the windows in the house completely open.
I promptly began to close all of said windows.
“What are you doing?”
“Closing the windows.”
Whining like a baby, “Ahhh, it was finally starting to get comfortable in here.”
Also whining like a baby, “Baaabe! I’m soooo cold. It’s like 40 degrees outside and the thermostat says 65!”
Trying to guilt-trip me, “I guess what I want doesn’t matter.”
Unphased, “You’re right, it doesn’t.”
1 comment:
I just found your blog from a link on Heidi's -- It is great to see how you are doing. I can't believe how time flies. The last time I saw your oldest boy he was just a new born. It looks like you two are doing great -- despite the temperature wars. We tend to have the same problem.
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