Yesterday I paused in my painting (nine hours worth) to eat lunch. Since I wasn’t climbing all over the stairs like a howler monkey,
Me: Do you think it’s cold in here?
Mr. Unreserved: Maybe a little.
Me: [checks digital thermostat] It says it’s 66 in here. It’s not just me.
Mr. Unreserved: [looking at thermostat] It says it’s turned off.
Mr. Unreserved and I ponder why the furnace would be turned off. Mr. Unreserved goes down to the basement to see if anything is obviously amiss. I feel an all too familiar sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and flashback to the very expensive furnace repairs we had in the other house prior to replacing it. (Completely my fault as it turns out – never cut the power to the blower on a milivolt system when the gas is still on and it’s cold outside. The heater runs without the blower on,
We went back to eating lunch, brainstorming what could have made the furnace decide to stop spontaneously. We asked the girls if they touched it. They denied it. At first. Then Claire piped up, “I did it.”
“Did what?” (Claire has been known to cop to things that she didn’t do; the truth is a flimsy concept for her yet.)
“I push button. I like green light.”
The display on the thermostat lights up green when buttons are pushed. She wouldn’t have known that if she hadn’t actually done it, so I believed her. Mystery solved, followed by a lecture on not pushing buttons on the thermostat, pretty green light or no.