My kids are wimps when it comes to the temperature of the house. I blame myself. When they get up in the morning, if the house has not returned to its daytime temperature of 71 degrees, they complain of the cold. Actually, complaining doesn’t quite cover it. Mostly, they wrap themselves in blankets while they eat breakfast. And, much to my dismay and irritation, they literally fight over who gets to sit on the heat vent on the kitchen floor. I tell them that none of them should sit on it, but who am I? Just the mother. No one to be trifled with.
This morning, I found Brooklyn’s beloved Cheetah, Tinkerbell, warming herself on the vent. Apparently, 65 degrees is too cold, even for a furry stuffed animal dressed in a sweater. I wonder if her lips were blue from getting out of bed!