Big Mama and I are going 'round and 'round. It isn't about the kids or finances or anything like that.
It's the air conditioner.
She will run that thing 24 hours a day trying to get the temperature inside the house down to 72, even when it's 97 degrees outside. We live in a 1,200 square foot box that's been wrapped in metal since sometime in the 1950s when aluminum siding seemed like a good idea. We have no trees. It's like spending a night in the box, except it's all. summer. long.
There are things that make cooling the house even more difficult, like using the oven and the fact that we're poorly insulated and the windows are for crap. But mainly, it's the kids. Isn't it always the kids?
They use the front and back doors like ... well, doors. But not doors to the inside of our house or the backyard. They use them like they're doors to a time machine or Candy Land or Narnia or someplace much more exciting.
They go out, they come right back in.
And, sometimes, they just stand there with it open as though it's the refrigerator door. And they may very well be that confused.
I threaten them with locking the door, whether they're on the outside or the inside. This generally evokes laughter or rolling eyes or the occasional obscene gesture. But I'll do it! I'll lock these kids out of my house in a heartbeat. Sure, it's hot here. It's very hot. But there's a hose out there and they know how to use it. There are shady areas in the neighborhood.
Meanwhile, I'll be in the cool house where it's 77 degrees at best, but trying so hard to get down to 72, when Kristy will then ask the AC to go down to a reasonable 68.