The weather man has predicted the coldest temperatures we’ve experienced all winter for this weekend. So, guess what? Our furnace broke! I mean, really broke. I didn’t just forget to order oil, like last time. And, of course! Why not? That furnace is such a drama queen. It waited for just the right time to make a scene and get all the attention, and all the money we already don’t have.

An Aside: Please W-2 forms, get here soon! Income Tax Refund, WE NEED YOU!

The good news is that the furnace can be fixed; the problem isn’t terminal.

The bad news is that the extra-super-duper-magnificent-magic part that is needed to fix it cannot make it to our general vicinity until Monday. Apparently, this part is so special that regular stores do not carry it and everyday people outside the furnance industry (i.e. me) could not possibly get their hands on such an item, even on the black furnace market. I think the furnace man said something about how he texted a sherpa who will travel to the enchanted furnace part factory somewhere in the Himalayas to retrieve our part that is being made by magic furnace fairies. He says that takes time, and if I think I’m cold, well, what about that sherpa? So I should just shut up about my freezing family and turn my oven on to 200 degrees and let it run with the oven door open. Because that’s the best idea for a family with a toddler, a clutzy pregnant woman and pets.

So, we ran to the store to buy more propane for the fireplace and another space heater and put on sweaters and thick, fuzzy socks. And since I’m trying to make the most of the resources I have, I put on baggy clothes and stuffed them with our furriest cats. (I knew those cats would earn their keep someday.)

Meanwhile, I’m skittering around working on sock monkeys for my Etsy shop, dabbling with my buckeye recipe to make heart-shaped treats for Valentine’s Day and Googling ‘cash cow,’ because I think I need to pick one of those up.

Julia keeps asking for popsicles, the crazy little twidget.