And that's how I contracted pneumonia*

Our furnace is broken. To be honest, I didn't even notice at first because to me, our house always feels like the frozen tundras of Antarctica (thus the aforementioned robe and sweat pants). Then the Schmoopsie-bear came home and casually announced, "it's chilly in here." Uh oh.

{Yes, that says 55 degrees. And this thermostat is upstairs-- far from where I lay incubating a child on our Lovesac in the basement as if there aren't loads of laundry to fold. And very near the oven which Paddy has turned to 450 degrees and left open. Which he learned from his mother, which partially endears her to me and partially makes me feel bad. And no, we did not allow Lupe in the house for this part. Dangerous.}

After a great deal of huffing and puffing by mi padre and El Pookie-face-- still not sure what that business with the sucking and blowing into the wires was all about-- it was decided that a part and an expert were called for.

Since, it has been decided that said part will not be available for several more days. Sweet. Still, it is better than the alternative as a new furnace is not in the current budget.

So, long story short(er), it is cold at our casa. We're all feeling it, except for Floyd, thanks to my handy layers of tummy flab. (What? I'm a Mormon. We're prepared for emergencies. Plus, we like cheese.) I thought Lupe would be downright frigid what with all the hair she's stuck to everything she's even looked at in the last two weeks, but she was horrified by the warm beach towel we put in her bed the other night, so I guess she's fine.

*Note: I do not have pneumonia. Yet.