the underwear drawer

flame-broiled



We gave Mack his first at-home bath last night. Which is neither here nor there, because the real big news is that we finally figured out how to turn on the fireplace in our house!

It's a gas fireplace, so don't get too excited--there was no assembling of logs or gathering of kindling or pumping of bellows or flaming hot pokers. But no one could figure out how to turn it on. The real estate agent had no idea. The guy that we're renting the townhouse from said he never used it, because neither he nor his wife could figure out how to turn it on. A neighbor (neighbors in the South apparently being quite friendly) came over the other day and tried to help us figure it out, and while he was unable to do so (despite having an identical fireplace in his unit), came bearing something even more useful, which was the instruction booklet for the fireplace. Who knew that fireplaces had instructions? Or that they turned on with a switch? THE FUTURE IS NOW.

We don't have a space heater, and we regulate the temperature in this place with the thermostat, so I couldn't figure out how we were going to warm up the place quickly for Mack's bath until this flaming baby came to light up our lives. We went from 68 degrees to a crackling 85 degrees or so in the office (the smaller of the two rooms that the fireplace connects) in about five minutes. Which, frankly, is pretty awesome. Too bad we live in Atlanta instead of, like, Nome. I would be using this thing every day.

(Oh, and the bath went well too.)