Josh and I, we both grew up around here, we know the drill. Snow, shovel, salt, rinse, repeat, we're cool with how the winter works. We might not like it, but we understand it. Except for the part where New Jersey has been plunged into sub-zero temperatures for at least a couple of weeks now. We can easily do several months of days in the twenties, but this has been in the 3 degree range, before the windchill. It's like we're in Minnesota or something.
And then, because OF COURSE IT DID, the heat broke.
I didn't get it at first. I was all like, okay, I'm sitting in my house, doing the freelance writing/laundry/dinner thing and I am just freezing. But my house is cold in general, so I put another sweatshirt on. And a third pair of socks. And then I made the mistake of looking up at the thermostat - and holy mother, it's reading 52 degrees.
The temperature kept dropping in the house and we were number 11 on the line of people waiting for the plumber to come. Needless to say, he did not show up because really, how many houses can he fix in a day.
We slept with many many blankets that night, I took the kids to their nice warm school in the morning and I headed back home to wait with Josh for the plumber. (Did you really think I'd just send him on his merry way to his nice, warm school that morning?)
He did his thing.
We wrote a check.
It's all good.