The Passive Aggressive Thermostat War

In 2013 we installed a wood burning stove insert into our fireplace.  We felt it was a brilliant way to save some money on heating fuel and create a romantic ambiance in our living room.  The children felt it was a brilliant way to work them like wood-carrying slaves for our own personal warmth.  Poor overworked children.

Somewhere along the wood burning journey, however, perspectives have changed.  

Maybe three men splitting wood creates unnatural thoughts of lunacy, but the male posse of the Fortin household has decided we should never turn on the furnace again, saving millions in home heating oil.  Budget $200/month to $0/month achieved.

My desperate pleas to supplement, not negate, the furnace are met with mockery.  They are all on board the free heat train as I sit stubbornly at the station.

But it is cold some mornings. Like 52 degrees cold. I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder and they have no sympathy.

"Stop whining, the sun is out."

"What would Dave Ramsey say?"

"Didn't you grow up in Minnesota."

"Budgeting is about needs versus wants."

"If you can't handle the heat, get out of the kitchen."  This is my personal favorite, because it is normally directed to me when I am standing in front of the open oven door warming my hands.

Consider it passive aggressive, but freezing to death in your own house calls for extreme measures. I turn on the furnaces when no one is looking.

Quietly, stealthily, I push the thermostat to heat, jack it up to 75 degrees, and quietly walk away.

I get caught, I get scolded, I get chastised for being a wimp.  But it usually takes at least an hour for someone to notice, so I have won my warmth.  Momentarily.

There are worst things in life than thrifty kids and a husband who chops wood in the dark.  

My two cents:  turn the thermostat down two degrees in March and call it an end of winter adventure.

Revenge of the Prunes

The doctor told him to eat more prunes.

For the sake of annomitity, I will not disclose who got this advice at his physical last year.  I won't even divulge why the advice was given.

But a whole year has gone by and the big container of prunes, purchased with noble intentions, remains disregarded, neglected, and uneaten in the far reaches of the cupboard.

I found them while searching for chocolate chips.

So I chopped up the whole container and added diced prunes to the Sunday afternoon cookie batch.

Most times, cookie day results in multiple visits the the kitchen by multiple members of the family.  They come not to help make the cookies, but to steal batter, lick the mixer, and get first grabs of the finished products.  

The prunes changed everything.

"That's disgusting," Son One mutters as he walks away shaking his head.

Son Two smells my concoction and drops the spoon back into the mixing bowl like the cookies have plague.

Even the dog wants nothing to do with the prune cookies.  She suspiciously watches a prune chunk dropped on the floor, but won't go near.

I am trying to justify to Beau-Hunkly my theory of waste not want not.  He seems to think it is better to waste in this case then Not Want any cookies.

I champion on with my prune cause.  Battle on, under-appreciated former plum.

It works.  3 dozen cookies disappear before they are generously deemed "hardcore."

My two cents:  Dig around in your cupboard for forgotten ingredients and get creative.  It's like finding a quarter on the ground.