I get cold very easily. It is for that reason, we had a heated mattress pad, that we used year round during the time we lived in SAN DIEGO.
We now live in Virginia. And over the past few weeks, the temperature has been steadily dropping. Last month, it was mostly in the 80's. This month, it's mostly in the 60's. Most mornings, the thermometer outside of our bathroom window registers low 40's. The children have been begging their father to drive them to the bus stop - which is less than a quarter mile away - because they can't tolerate being so cold. They've been asking that we please promise it won't get any colder and well, I've got bad news for them.
It's actually frozen. Just like ice.
Although my husband largely grew up in Santa Barbara, he was born and spent the first few years of his life in Canada. This week, Charlie has been trotting around the outdoors in a t-shirt while announcing that his Canadian roots are coming back to him. When he comes indoors, he flings open the windows and says, "This feels so GREAT! Let's get some of this beautiful Fall air in here!" Meanwhile, his children and I are morphing in to one huge goosebump.
We don't want the windows open.
We close the windows.
Charlie opens them.
We stress how cold we are.
Charlie stresses how he can't stand stuffy spaces.
Which I suppose, in the land of crazy, temperatures in the 50's are refreshing, while temperatures in the 70's are stuffy.
In retaliation for forcing us to live in ice box conditions, I am sneaking up behind him and slipping my ice cold hands under his shirt straight up to his arm pits.
After he stops screaming, I'll ask, "See? Isn't that refreshing?"