In the old days...

So, I've been playing prairie pioneer woman for the past few days. I get up before the sun (around 5 a.m.) and venture outside to gather firewood so I can get a blazing fire going to warm the frigid air in our house. I turn on the oven and make muffins for the girls for breakfast and gather their clothes to throw in the dryer to warm them before they have to get dressed. Then, I let them get dressed in front of the fireplace where they sit toasting their little bodies and arguing about who is hogging up the most space in front of the fire. At least I haven't had to butcher any little animals to feed us, so that's a bonus.

That's right, we've had NO heat in the house since it started getting cold and damn, it's frigid! Not freezing, as Wild complains, but chilly enough to necessitate sweatpants, long sleeves, slippers and curlin gup in a warm blanket on the couch, but not miserably uncomfortable. She would probably be warmer if she'd actually deign to get out of the mini-skirt and super thin, skin-tight babydoll t-shirt and get into something a little warmer, something with, oh, I don't know, full legs and long sleeves! I feel no sympathy for her at all. I once lived in an old, old farmhouse where the ONLY heat source was a little gas stove in the living room and our bedrooms were upstairs. We wore hats and scarves and flannel pajamas and socks to bed and I had to break the ice in my cat's water bowl every morning during the winter. I could see my breath in my room and I swore my snot froze more than once. Now that's cold! So, no sympathy for the 14-year-old who complains that 55-degrees in the house is freezing. Pshaw. What a wuss.

Did I mention I end up going to work smelling like a campfire? That fireplace smoke, it clings to everything, especially my hair, when I'm trying to get it to go from smoldering ember to blazing heat source.

The propane guy finally showed up and filled the tank yesterday, thank goodness! I did the we-have-heat happy dance! Unruly, although she enjoys having a properly heated house, was of course complaining and whining that I didn't get up and start a fire for her to sit by this morning or last night. Ungrateful little wretch!

It's a good thing I love my girls or I'd seriously consider selling them to the next band of gypsies who pass through.