The cold seeps through our walls, freezing my toes in my slippers, causing the end of my nose to drip, even with the heat on full-blast. My children feel it too. During the day, they run around like barefooted hooligans, each sweating from the effort of wrestling his brother into submission. But at night, even tucked into footie pajamas and snuggled under layers of fleece blankets and heavy quilts, the cold seeps into their nests, driving them from their bed into ours.
And so, no one sleeps well. Our antique full-sized bed is not nearly large enough for a preschooler, a toddler, and two adults. We snuggle spoon-like with the boys for a while until the bed gets too cramped, and then we carefully tuck them back into their own beds, where they stay for two or three hours before coming to us again.
I am tired. And cold. Not yet 30, but the thought of facing another Pennsylvania winter has me daydreaming with my husband about a cross-country move to a warmer climate. Florida is out, due to hurricanes, and we don’t think we’d survive the politics of the Deep South, but I got him to at least think about the Desert Southwest.
I hear New Mexico is lovely this time of year.