It’s a competition.
It’s a sport to him.
He’s got it all planned out. A far-off date in mind as our point of destination. We MUST beat last year’s date – we’re undoubtedly stronger now.
How long can we last before we break down and turn the heat on?
How long before we admit defeat?
I look around for the hidden cameras. Surely we’re on some type of “Survivor” show that he’s signed us up for (without my consent). I wonder how the other families are doing with the challenge and how much the prize money will be. We’re tough and hearty people but I’m not sure who we’re up against. What channel does this air on?? Will they edit out the jumping jacks I just made the kids do to keep their body temperatures up?? (I’ll never know because another thing he won’t pay for is cable).
Yet despite my rigid fingers and frozen snot, I must support this endeavor. Because he makes it fun. And he’s always looking out for us. ALWAYS. And I know that soon (when we can literally see our breath over dinner conversation), he’ll get up and with a disgruntled huff, go turn the heat on and 68 degrees will feel like we’re sitting on the sun.