It's -3*F with a windchill factor of -22*. At this temp, things stop working, such as garage door openers.
I'm headed back to work today, but I dread it because now the limb extrication syndrome has developed into a regular old cold. Pray that I will be nice to people today. Even the ones who call my office and demand, "Who is this???" after I have already clearly said, "Oneighty--this is Linda. May I help you?" Pray that I don't then succumb to the temptation to reply, "Oh...Yoda language you do speak. Linda this is. Of Oneighty. You I may help how?"
Does anyone out there know if there is a simple etiquette guide for posting? I happened to read about a no-no that I wasn't previously aware of this morning. I could be saying all kinds of things that seem innocuous to me but are offensive if there is a code against them somewhere. Besides the obvious things like: Thou shalt not say, "You are a bad mom for doing that." Or, "My religion is way better than yours." Etc.
I am heavy. I have not been this weight since before I joined Weight Watchers many years ago, where I lost 30 lbs and went on to be a discussion room leader. It is time. To exercise. And count points. I don't want to do the meetings, but I know that people who stayed for the meetings lost 3 x the amount of weight as those who did the plan Lone Ranger style. It goes back to that biblical principle called "accountability." FYI, I think WW is the BEST weight loss system out there, bar none. No hoaky plans or blackballed foods. Just re-learning portion size and accountability. Plus very good tips. We were eating off smaller plates years ago. Every time I see this tip in a Woman's magazine, I think, "Wow, I used to recommend that all the time."
This week, as predicted, there were many Hoosier newborns named Peyton, after the Colts' quarterback. The one highlighted in our paper today, however, is different: his last name is Manning. No relation. Double irony: This family was one featured on the "Armed and Famous" series here in Muncie. They are apparently destined for fame.
My family's new favorite TV show, which the teenagers make of point of sitting down and watching together, is Malcolm in the Middle. (So we are little behind the times.) We just recently ordered Tivo, which my 17 year-old son is sure I will not be able to handle technologically. This show was our parental Waterloo because you cannot get other seasons on DVD. Among their favorite episodes is the one where the dad shows off his '80s roller skating prowess while skating in a shiny blue body suit to "We are the Champions."
This is the 3rd day in a row my kids are on a 2-hour delay due to sub-freezing temps. This is glorious enough to make them "skate" around and sing, "We are the Champions." Of course, our house is freezing cold, so that motivates them to move, too.
I am reacting to the chill completely differently. I would like to get back into bed and turn that space heater on the "thermogenic broiler" setting, the one just under the "crematory" setting. I didn't want to take a shower or put on makeup. I didn't want to put on my watch just now and head out to the garage and get into that cold car whose seat dispenses cold that will make my backside feel as if I've sat in a puddle of ice-cold Coke. But I am just about to do that. I think my extra layers of blubber might be a good thing today.