Dear Libby,

Every winter, my family goes through a transformation. We get along famously throughout the spring, summer, and fall. But once the frost sets in and the daylight wanes, the dreaded Thermostat Wars begin. I’m of the (correct) opinion that the heat should be set to 72 degrees F. My husband refuses to set it any higher than 66. My eldest son likes it really toasty, sometimes turning it as high as 78. My daughter likes it cold, but a more tolerable cold, somewhere around 69 degrees. My youngest son will turn it all the way down to 61 or 62.

Since my family has a hectic schedule with work, school, sports, extracurriculars, and outdoor hobbies, we’re rarely all home at the same time. During the day, the thermostat is constantly going up and down depending on who happens to be around at any given time. It’s become a ritual for someone to arrive home and go straight to the HVAC control unit, slamming the buttons until the number reaches their desired temperature.

The opening salvo of the war brings the stench of dust burning in the heating ducts. When it reaches its zenith, we know my firstborn has fired his first shot. If I come home and have to leave my jacket on inside, I know my youngest got there before me. At any given time, the members of my family will be in anything from shorts and a t-shirt to three layers of heavy clothing. On the rare occasion we can all sit down for dinner together, it would be impossible to tell what season it is just by looking at what we’re wearing.

There are some days where the heater never has time to settle at any given temperature. Every time one of us walks by the thermostat, the pounding of the up and down arrows echoes through the halls of our home. Tempers often flare, and shouting matches break out over whose turn it is to choose our indoor climate. We tried making a chart to give everyone a chance to set it at their chosen temperature, but with how volatile our schedules can be, it’s impossible to stick to it.

Recently, my husband announced that he was sick of the fighting. That seemed promising, like he was open to compromise. Instead, he told us that since he paid the bills, his preference reigned supreme. This was a confusing statement, because he and I split the cost of utilities, and the kids chip in with money they earn from their afterschool jobs. As you’d expect, his pronouncement went over like a steak and veal dinner at a PETA banquet.

When I asked my husband why he believed he had the right to decide our thermostat’s temperature, he told me that growing up, his father picked what the heat was set at, as it was with his father’s father and his father’s father’s father before him. When I reminded him that his grandfather’s house didn’t even have heat until 1978, he brushed it off as a mere technicality.

At this point, we’ve reached a stalemate. Nobody is willing to compromise. Nobody will budge on their usage of the thermostat. The buttons are so worn out from the endless battles that you can’t even see what they say anymore. We work it through muscle memory alone. How can my family finally bring an end to the cycle of war and agree once and for all to set the thermostat at 72?

–Hot (or Cold) Under the Collar

Dear “Hot (or Cold) Under the Collar,”

Set your thermostat to 68 you heathen.

–Lovingly, Libby