A real snot-freezer

God, this sucks. I can't seem to stop eating, our last gas/electric bill was $429.71, and I have huge fights with the kids every time we have to go outside. Typical exchange: Jo refuses to wear her mittens; I tell her she has to; she refuses; repeat until I am yelling "If you don't wear them you will get frostbite and a doctor will have to cut your fingers off!!!" (no, I'm not proud of that one).

The last time I can rememer being this cold was when I lived in France in college. I stayed in a house just outside of Grenoble, a town in the mountains of Savoie that hosted the Winter Olympics in 1968. Grâce à Dieu, some friend of my parents had a daughter who'd spent time there, and she urged me to bring some long underwear. I had one pair, the silk kind, and I wore them day and night for weeks. I slept in the long johns, flannel pajamas, a hooded sweatshirt, two pairs of socks, and a bathrobe. My bedroom was on the ground floor and jutted out from the front of the house, with three walls and the roof exposed, so it was even more freezing than the rest of the place. (Also loud: A few mornings a week, my host mother's son would drop off his small children for her to babysit. He'd open the front door, just outside my bedroom door, and shove the kids in, shouting Maman! Je les laisse!! at the top of his lungs, and then leave.)

To get to the university where I took classes, I'd have to walk a half-mile from the house to the bus stop--uphill, naturellement--then take the bus to the tram. If I knew how to upload audio I'd give you my imitation of the disembodied Tram Lady Voice saying "Attention à la fermeture des portes! Ce tram a son terminus à Gare Europole." I assure you, my impression is dead on.