The other week, my son came to my house to have me help him with his QuickBooks. He was trying to figure out how to use them to do his taxes. It wasn’t meant to be for his lesson. I wasn’t feeling really sick, and my eyes were so bleary that I couldn’t see. His wife sat next to me, and I talked her through the taxes. I asked my son to get my sweater for me, and he just looked at me. He went over and checked the thermostat and told me that it was at seventy, and he couldn’t figure out how I could be so cold, but he got my sweater. I was finally getting warm. My granddaughter and grandson stood in the kitchen watching me, and they said it was too hot in the house. They were putting on their coats when their mom asked where they were going. My son had them by the scruff of the neck as they both said they were going to the trampoline; We had about four inches of snow and it was crusted with an inch of ice. My son pulled them back and told them to suffer the heating, because Nena was sick. They threw such a hissy feet. While he was there, he checked the air ducts and the ductwork, even thought I told him that dad had already cleaned them. Then he checked my temperature and told me to go to bed. I was allowed to hug the kids and he kissed my forehead, as they headed home.