The dogs woke me up this morning (why we didn't get their bladders removed, I'll never know) a little earlier than I wanted to. Good thing--it's friggin' icy in the main part of the house. It's 54.3 degrees in the house, and 3.4 degrees outside.
This is what happens when the fire goes out at night. I mean the fire in the woodstove--we are that archaic here in Cascade. Matt is going through his annual firewood paranoia right now. Every single year, he becomes convinced that we're going to run out of firewood before things warm up, and then instates a period of rationing.
I've started to put my foot down. If I'm going to be home most of the time, it has to be at least 63 degrees in here. I can't function on anything less!