She says tomato, and he says toe-mah-toe

My children are native Floridians, all of them. As a result, our internal thermometers run on different scales. I have a 'hot' meter and they have a 'cold' meter. I believe that anything over 60, is cause for a tee shirt. They believe that anything under 75 is a reason to haul out gloves, hats, and scarves. I tend to throw a blanket over the baby carrier when it gets chilly, other mothers have their tiny offspring in ski suits.

Last night the gloves came off, well, not literally, one of my children wore hers to bed. Figuratively though, the gloves came off. I put my foot down. The night before, I agreed to up the thermostat from 69 to 71. After many tears and watching my children fumble with breakfast forks in their gloved hands, I agreed to turn it up to 72. The day was fine. A few of my children removed their earmuffs. Another couple shed their scarves. All seemed to be well, and although I had to change into a tee shirt, I was also happy.

Then night fell. My children appeared at my bed. Four little bodies covered from head to toe with every article of cold weather clothing we own, and one having shed his pajamas, wearing only a diaper. One in a leather jacket and ski cap, another wearing a cap and a scarf, another in her jacket and gloves, with a sweatband pulled down over her ears, the baby in an older sibling's cast off jacket. They were a pathetic bunch, all huddled together for warmth.

The lot of them though, didn't amass enough heat to thaw my frozen heart. So, they slept on my bed, dressed as described above, with every single one of their blankets over them, and my comforter on top of all. I slept in the recliner downstairs, because I was frigging dieing of the damn heat.

Next year they want us to take them to my sister's house for Christmas so they can see real snow. Yeh, I'm sure that would be a success!