Petunia rambles on and on….

15th Annual Nanook Wars

(AKA  15th Annual Thermostat Wars)

It begins again. Every year. Shortly after cold weather sets in.

• Paul is cold.
• I am not.
• Paul is skinny.
• I am not as skinny as I used to be not.

Perhaps this affects how we perceive weather and cold and intelligent thought.

I say intelligent things like, “Turn down that damn thermostat. They send us a bill at the end of the month.”  OR “Did somebody die and leave you money??  To pay the damn gas company?? Turn down the #$%%#% heat.” AND “If you’re cold, put on a sweater. That’s what they’re for!”  (Thanks, Brenda, for that line!)

He says things like, “Well, I don’t have hot flashes like you do,” OR “You have more insulation than I do,” and he oddly expects me to just shut up and accept stuff like that flying out of his face!!  ME?? Stay calm?? Let him live??

Several years ago, we replaced our dying thermostat with a fancy new programmable one.  Great idea. How many times do you remember to cut back the temperature after you’ve gone to bed, and then just say, ‘The hell with it,’ turn over and go to sleep? Or forget to cut it back before you leave for work in the morning? Costs ya money every time. I figured this device would be more dependable than my memory. (Damn it, stop laughing) Wonderful idea. I programmed it. Worked great for a while, until he realized that there was an Override button on it.  Regardless of the programming, you can sneak over to the thermostat when someone else in the house goes to the toilet, bump up the setting 142 degrees, hit HOLD and contine out to the fridge for another beer. In short order, my eyes are starting to bulge out of my head from the heat, and he denies touching the thermostat.

So here are the current battle stats:

1. He replaced the batteries on the thermostat, and in so doing, lost all the settings. Simultaneously, he lost the directions for programming it.
2. Pushing lots of buttons on it many times and lots of swearing now has it dropping to its Night setting at MIDNIGHT! We go to bed at about 10pm almost every night. I lay in bed for two hours listening to the heater cycle on and off, and calculating how much less beer he’ll drink next month. OR I get up and go out to the thermostat, tripping over a black dog BOTH WAYS, to reduce the setting and hit HOLD. He mumbles about how I’m trying to freeze him to death for the insurance money.
3. Minor nightly skirmish of the covers. He wants at least 3 blankets on the bed. I throw off all but the damn sheet. After all, it’s only 12 degrees hotter on the sun!
4. He checks The Weather Channel before we go to bed and sighs when he hears the expected low temp. “Did you hear that? It’s gonna go down to 12 degrees (Fahrenheit) tonight. Need to get out another blanket!” I am starting to foam at the mouth about now. “Are you sleeping in the front yard tonight?” “No,” he says. “Then it doesn’t matter what it’s gonna be outside, if you’re planning on sleeping inside here with the CENTRAL HEAT roaring and 2 feet of blankets piled on you.”  He argues about this point every damn night, that if it’s colder outside, you need more blankets because, huh, it’s colder inside! I respond hotly, every night, that the heater keeps it at a set temperature inside, regardless of the outdoor temp. That’s what the thermostat is for.  (what a shame that all male brain cells are carried around in those two little sacks, not connected to anything).
5. He complains of not getting enough sleep. I think it’s because of all the time he spends dressing for bed (and then undressing/redressing in the morning).  He wears underwear, flannel pants, t-shirt, fleece shirt, socks. Admiral Byrd didn’t wear that much going to the Pole. I sleep in a tank top, summer and winter. That’s it. Quick. Easy. Good night.  If he wants to wear a hat to bed, I’m gonna shoot him.

I predict another 8-10 weeks of this war, until Mother Nature wins.

First off – I got an electric griddle for Christmas – with the crowd here for the holidays, and a need to make the eggs go farther, I made French Toast for all. Today, with Kate and the boys here, grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch! Works beautifully and speeds up getting it done. Cooks more evenly than the old style griddle that I had – the kind that lays over two burners on the stove.

Knitting frenzy this morning produced a finished set of cabled mitts for daughter, who modeled them!

The pattern is Mom’s Cabled Mitts. I’ve made a pair before, and wear them almost every day. This is Paton’s Classic Wool done on size 6 DPN’s, and I did them in the Large size.  Daughter has small hands – the Large is longer, not wider, and I liked the idea of the mitts going further up the arms and down the hands. Warmer. Purple is her color; she arrived wearing a purple sweater.

Then Pop assembled the scooters that we got for the boys at Christmas. They were left here after the holidays because Daughter’s small car was full to the ears or they were forgotten with all that needed to be carried out. We all went outside to watch the boys try them out.

I’m gonna hate going back to work tomorrow!

I get up for work early, stagger out to the kitchen, and thank all that is holy for the concept of a coffeemaker with a timer that has the coffee ready to pour as I approach. Otherwise, I would just stand there, stupified, and cry silently. It usually takes a while for me to wake up and find my intelligence, rarely remembering where I might have left it. I habitually waste time early on, not realizing what I’m doing, then race around like a lunatic because I’m running late.

The other morning I was in Lunatic Mode. At the last minute, as I should have been going out the door, already had my coat on, I thought of a gift I wanted to make for a friend, and thought, “If I take the yarn and needles to work with me, and it’s slow, I could get it started.” No problem with the yarn. With this same gift in mind for 2 different recipients, I had stopped at the big local craft store and bought 2 skeins of Paton’s Classic Wool – one will be enough for each gift.  And stupidly left the bag right on the damn kitchen table, making sure that I gave Himself the opportunity to say, “Oh, I see you went to A. C. Moore today while not spending any extra money. What a surprise! There’s yarn in the bag.”  OK, so taking the yarn with me won’t be a problem. Pattern. Got it off the internet, so even though I can’t print another one right now because I have 400 sheets of paper jammed in the printer, I can easily get the pattern at work. Needles. What size did I use? I just made this item 2 weeks ago – I should be able to remember what size needle I used. It was a good-sized one, I remember that. The Classic Wool is worsted weight so it wouldn’t have been made on a wee fine needle. I had already shut off the computer and was now running later.

Just then Pop came out of the bedroom, still half asleep. He gets to sleep in later because he doesn’t have to be to work as early as me. In desparation and more as a joke than anything else, I said, “Paul, what size needle did I use when I made this?” and held up and dangled the last finished item. This is really a joke as he cares less about my knitting than the dog does if that’s possible. He knows slightly more than she does, though, such as the cost of the last batch of sock yarn I bought – Note to self: shred receipts immediately and he knows how to use a needle gauge.

He looked at me, still dazed and confused with sleep, and mumbled, “Six.”

“Do you know that? Do you really know?”

“Yes,” he says, “size 6,” and he says this with an aura of knowledge about him.

Well, this is a good thing, as I had several “6’s” handy, but I was mystified, so I had to ask, “How do you remember?”

“That night when you started on that one?” he said, pointing at the knitted item in my hand. “Well, you were going around here in a frenzy, looking for something, and I asked ‘what are you looking for?’ and you were so mad. You know how you get when you can’t find something. Well, pissed off, you yelled, “Six, Six, Six!!”

“And I never hear anything right and thought I was gonna get lucky.”