Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

It was somewhere around the end of May, or maybe it was the middle of June.

I forget.

But, what is forever emblazoned on my mind is the fact that the thermostat in the upstairs hall read 85 degrees.

This was child abuse!

At least, in all of my 14-year old brattiness, I thought so.

I whined,

"Mom…it's soooooo hot upstairs.  Can't we please turn on the air-conditioner?  Anyone who's normal doesn't make their kids suffer like this!!!"

The classic refute,

"It costs me $XXX to cool down the house and I'm not going to spend my money like that.  Besides it's not that hot.  When it reaches 90 degrees, I'll think about it."

"But, you don't understand!  You NEVER get hot!  You're ALWAYS cold!  You just like to MAKE ME SUFFER!  YOU DON'T LOVE ME!!! "

Escalating voice.

Dramatic tears.

Stomp, stomp, stomp up the stairs.

SLAM! the bedroom door.

How my mother ever made it through my teenage years is nothing short of a miracle.

An hour later, when my dad was dropped me off at my softball game, he pointed out that I was, perhaps, the most spoiled child he had raised. (By no fault of his own, mind you.)  And out of his six, he was probably right.

Fast forward something like 10 or 15 years, and we find ourselves in media res.

It's January, and hovering somewhere around 12 degrees outside and my husband just picked up the mail.

"What the?!?!?!?"

"Aaron!"

I rant,

"Did you see this power bill!? Its $XXX!!!  This is UNACCEPTABLE!!  Who do they think they ARE!!   We can't afford an electricity bill like this!  I can't BELIEVE this!!  You need to call them RIGHT NOW and see what's going on!!  I am SO MAD!!!!!"

[Some antics never change.]

"Well…Andi…the heat has been turned up to 80 degrees for the past few weeks… 

You just get so cold. 

You're always cold."

Sweet, sweet irony.

Mirror, mirror on the wall...

I am my mother after all.

(Except for the melodrama...I somehow figured that out all on my own.)