It’s not miserable, don’t get me wrong or anything. But this morning when I walked out the door, on schedule to be on time for an appointment, only to become late when I couldn’t physically scrape the ice skating rink off front windshield and had to wait for it to defrost into peepholes, I decided it was too cold. There are a few things that happen when it’s too cold outside:
- I drink lots of hot chai. Chai concentrate with, at this time of year, (just pretend I didn’t actually say this) store bought cow’s milk. Bleh. Well, the goats are dry right now which is a good thing, because my sore elbows and my complaining boys needed a break. But it means for a lot of inferior chai.
- The heater comes on. We have a strict rule that my husband and I established that the heater is to be turned up to no more than 70. That is specifically to thwart the stealthy index finger of my older son from “accidentally” turning it up to 75 or 80, a quality he inherited from his mother. Yes. I admit it. I, as a girl, used to go down the dark, knotty pine hallway, which happened to house the whole-house thermostat and move the red thingy way to the right, proceed to my bedroom and cozy up for a nap next to the heater. When the house reached a temperature of broiling, I would announce to my parents when asked, “I don’t know how it got there!” My son and I both LOVE to curl up by the heater and let it blast out hot air until our skin is on fire. It’s an addiction. However, as an adult and as half of the adults in the household that have to pay for the gas to power the heater, I mostly stick to the 70 degree rule. Except for today. Cold days when my heat addicted son is at school are an exception. I can break the rules and he won’t know it. Right now, the heater is set at 73ish.
- I read. I read to myself, and today for a little bit, I read to my husband since he’s inside thawing out his fingers from working in his heaterless workshop. Right now, I’m reading a hysterical, laugh out loud book called: On cold days I, of course, read by the heater. That is a concious decision though, because I know that the moment I accept the urge to read by the heater, I will also, soon enough, accept the urge to lie down by the heater, convincing myself that I deserve a nap. Once reclined, I grab the closest blanket, determine it’s too small and reach for a larger one, cover up just right so that the heater is included in the whole tent-like situation, wait for my coccoon to fill up with hot air and read until my eyelids feel pokey, put the book down, breathe a sigh of gratitude and close my eyes, hoping the fact that the heater is at 73, not 70, will mean it will stay on a while longer. However, after 3 times of the heat turning off (dang it!) and turning back on (yesssssss!) I give in to the fact than I’m 41, not 14, and both hips are aching and so’s my bad shoulder. I’ll just go get in bed. I still deserve a nap and since I haven’t sunk into the state of sleep I expected, I’ll just have to get some cushion for my bones.
- I take a nap. Well, that’s what’s supposed to happen. But, instead, I’m thinking I should write about this and tell you what real life on this goat farm looks like. It’s not all goats all the time. It’s napping (or not napping) sometimes too. I snuggle in deeper to my covers and think about the chai I’ll have upon awaking and that’s when I’ll write. But, alas, no sleep. No chai. Just the creative urge to write, which I’m sure is a good thing. So, here I am writing. And the heater just kicked back on.
Now that you know the goings on around here, I’m going to get my chai.
– The Goat Cheese Lady
P.S. I have a Valentine’s Day Goat Milk Soap, Lotion and Lip Balm Sale going on! If you need some or if you need someone to get you some, grab it. Just click here.