It all started last January when we received our first winter electric bill in this leased house. It was 4 digits. After Peter pulled himself off the ceiling, we did some major revisiting of our cold tolerance. The problem is that this house has no central heat and air. It also, as far as I can tell, has minimal insulation. And when the owners put an addition on they installed electric baseboard heating. So the older part of the house uses oil and the rest is electric. Electric heat stinks (that could be taken literally, ever leave a plastic toy on an electric heater?)
Since the house we own still hadn't sold when the lease here was up, we signed on for another year. This winter we tried to prepare for the cold. We moved my craft room upstairs to the younger boys' old room (electric heat) and put all four boys into the old craft room downstairs (oil heat). Since the room isn't large enough for 2 bunk beds and dressers, we left all the clothes in the older boys' old room. We then shut off those two rooms so we could only heat as needed. (We also have some paranoid-to-see-the-next-bill troll who keeps turning off the electric heat in the master bedroom and kitchen with his angry trollish wife, blue lips trembling, threatening to keep the whole house at 75 degrees if she finds it off again. But that is a different story.)
Anyway, it took me 1 whole week to realize the boys new "dressing room" was the perfect place to sort laundry. It is, after all, mostly empty. Plus, half the household's clothes actually belong in there, so less put away work.
Do you see the flaw?
I can shut that door. Because the room isn't heated, I have to shut that door. I never have to see the heaps of laundry and without their mountainous monstrosity taunting me daily, I can ignore them for weeks. Three weeks (maybe four) to be exact. I even (turned on the heat and) sorted them into everyone's piles one week then left them there to be dug into by family members searching for a pair of jeans or clean shirt. Although they search quickly, motivated by their under-clothed bodies in an unheated space.
Tomorrow I am determined to tackle my laundry, subduing the mountain into tame mounds of folded T-shirts, pajamas, and underwear. Mostly because I can't find my favorite pair of warm socks and my feet are tired of being half frozen.
You may wonder why we choose to stay in this house after we knew we would pay a fortune to heat it and still shiver all winter. Surely not for a convoluted excuse to not fold laundry? Surely not because I enjoy trying to get four boys to fall asleep in one tiny room. You're right. I wouldn't stay cold for that. I submitted to chilliness to wake up to this every morning:
(Even when it looks more like this.)