Last Friday a man rang my doorbell. He was here, he announced, to put in a new water pump for our heating system. I quickly let him in and went back to my work. After half hour or so, the radiators started gurgling, and not long after that they were warm to the touch. I peeled off my jacket. By Saturday morning the kitchen floors were warm. My slippers went back to their place in the closet. On Monday the sun came out and my socks came off. By Tuesday we had to start cracking windows to let the heat out of our stifling kitchen.
When I asked for heat, I got it.
The children have started kicking off covers at night and Eleanor is sleeping in just a pair of cotton pajamas; I had to take off layers when her sheet was sweat-soaked in the morning. I haven't worn socks for days and Joseph ran around all day today in shorts.
I know that eventually when the snow is on the ground and we haven't seen the sun for days, the heat will be necessary and I'll pull the jacket and slippers back out again, but mid November and sixty degrees doesn't require quite as much heat as we have running through our floors and radiators these days.
But hey, I'm not complaining. I'd much, much rather be too hot than too cold.
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