Issue #2 | Friday, October 16, 2026

Hey, it's Troy.

Every October in West Michigan there's one week where the house gets cold and everybody pretends it didn't. The maples are going orange, the leaves are piling up in the yard I swore I'd rake last weekend, and the furnace is sitting in the basement like a dog waiting to be let out. This was that week.

Monday morning it was 38 degrees outside and 64 in the kitchen. My wife came downstairs wearing my hoodie, her hoodie, and a throw blanket tied around her neck like a cape. She didn't say a word. She just looked at the thermostat, then at me, the way a hostage looks at the camera.

In our house, the heat doesn't come on before November. I didn't make this rule up. My dad did. His dad probably did too. It gets passed down like a pocket watch, except colder.

The Main Event: The Thermostat Petition

Tuesday after school my 10-year-old daughter hands me a sheet of paper. Across the top, in purple marker, with a border of hand-drawn snowflakes: "PETITION TO TURN ON THE HEAT (PLEASE)."

She spelled everything right. She wants that noted. She also used a ruler for the signature lines, which is more prep than I've ever put into a work meeting.

Below that, signatures. Hers, with a heart over the i. My wife's, in cursive, which felt personal. My 15-year-old signed with a giant scribble and the words "whatever is warmest." My 13-year-old refused to sign until she paid him a dollar, then signed, then tried to charge her another dollar for "a second signature." He's going to run a business someday. Or a toll road.

And then my 23-year-old wanders into the kitchen, reads the petition over her shoulder, and signs it without breaking stride. "Dad, I'm 23. I shouldn't have to wear a coat to eat cereal." Bold words from a guy who has never once seen the gas bill.

She had organized the entire household against me in one afternoon. Grown adults included. I've sat on committees that couldn't do that in a year.

Old me knows exactly how this goes. Option one: say "put on a sweater" in the Dad Voice and walk away. Option two: say no all week, get worn down by Thursday, and crank it to 72 while muttering about the gas bill. Both are classics. Neither works. The first one teaches her that her ideas get swatted. The second one teaches all four of them that if you push long enough, Dad folds. Which, to be fair, is also how most HOAs work.

So this time I sat down at the kitchen table and read the petition. Out loud. Including the dollar-signature footnote. She watched me like a lawyer watching a jury.

Then I said, "No. Not today. But I'll make you a deal."

I told her the heat isn't about Dad's mood. It's about the weather. So the weather gets to decide. We put a little wireless thermometer sensor out on the back porch, with the screen on the kitchen counter. Here's the rule: three mornings in a row under 40 degrees outside, the heat comes on. Doesn't matter what Dad thinks. The thermometer is the boss.

Then I gave her the job. Every morning she checks it and writes the number on a chart on the fridge. She made the chart herself. It has a key. Of course it has a key.

I have never seen this kid get up before her alarm. Wednesday, 6:45 a.m., she's in the kitchen in slippers. "THIRTY-SIX!" Like she'd won the lottery.

Thursday: 44. Gray, drizzly, classic Grand Rapids October. You'd think someone canceled Christmas. She stood at the window, glaring. Not at me. At the clouds rolling in off Lake Michigan.

Meanwhile, the teenagers ran their own experiments. The 15-year-old discovered blankets exist and now lives inside one on the couch like a burrito with a phone. The 13-year-old figured out that if he stands in front of the oven while it preheats for frozen pizza, it's basically a space heater. I've been telling them about sweatshirts for years. They learned it in four days.

But the best part was Friday night. My wife asked if we could "just bump it up for an hour." And my daughter, in full seriousness, said, "Mom. It's not up to Dad. It's up to the thermometer."

I have never been prouder. I've also never slept on a colder side of the bed.

That's the thing I keep coming back to. A no that's just "because I said so" feels like a wall. A no that's tied to something real, something they can watch and check, feels like a game they can actually win. And when they win it, they know they earned it.

No of the Week

For when somebody in your house reaches for the thermostat in October:

Say it with confidence. Ideally while wearing two pairs of socks so nobody can call you a hypocrite.

The Actual Lesson (I Promise It's Short)

Read the petition. When your kid brings you a case, hear the whole thing before you answer. You can still say no. But a kid who feels heard argues less and listens more. And honestly, a petition with a ruler and a key deserved a reading.

Let something besides you be the referee. A thermometer, a kitchen timer, a calendar, a chore chart. When the rule lives outside your mood, the fight isn't with you anymore. It's with the weather, and Michigan weather does not care how loud you whine. Ask anyone who's planned an outdoor anything here.

A little uncomfortable is okay. Being a bit chilly isn't an emergency. It's a small problem they can solve themselves. They don't learn to fix things if we fix everything first. That goes for the 10-year-old, and it goes double for the teenagers.

The Boss of the Thermostat

The one we use is the TempPro TP60 indoor/outdoor thermometer. A little sensor goes outside, the screen sits on the counter, and a 10-year-old can read the number and log it before her brothers are even awake.

It also shows the inside temperature, which is how my wife found out it's 64 in here, and how I had to stop saying "it's like 68." Runs on AAA batteries and ended a family feud. Hard to beat that.

Your Turn: Send Me Your Best "No"

What's the house rule your dad passed down that you still enforce? The thermostat. "Close the door, we're not heating the whole neighborhood." "Who left every light in this house on?" Hit reply and tell me. Bonus points if your kids have already started a resistance movement. Extra bonus points if your grown kid still lives at home and signed the petition too.

I'll feature my favorites in a future issue. First names only, or "a dad hiding behind the space heater" if you'd rather stay anonymous.

That's it for this week. Go check your thermostat. Then go find some socks.

Talk next Friday, Troy

P.S. As I write this, it's been under 40 two mornings in a row. If tomorrow cooperates, I lose. My wife has started checking the chart too, and she is not rooting for me. Neither is the 23-year-old eating cereal in his coat.

If you buy through a link, I might earn a few bucks. Costs you nothing. Funds my coffee.