Foul air can still be warm

A full home pipes replacement costs nearly $15,000.

I settle for the occasional sewage smell when the pipes drain too slowly, light an incense stick, then snuff it out.

The smoke smells like sanctified urine and makes my eyes itch.

We eat clementines by the handful, simmer the peels with cinnamon and clove, and inhale the steam until the backs of our tongues feel clean.

Vitamin C is an effective stool softener. The toilet flushes as the furnace kicks on.

It's been over a week since outdoor temperatures have breached zero degrees. The thermostat reads 62.

I turn the furnace off, don another sweater. Make soup and add a tablespoon of chili flakes.

I'm sweating now, but the kids are still hungry.

Too spicy for tiny mouths.

We put on our coats and belt "LET IT GO" for the entire four-minute drive.

A family meal at Panda Express costs less than $50 and is enough to feed us all twice.

We slurp noodles and ogle at the wallpaper pandas, hungry construction workers, and brightly colored soda pop machine.

I swallow my fast-food aversion with a mouthful of shrimp and bask in the unprecedented wonder of youth.

The kids wave with big beaming smiles to the semis we pass driving home.

We're still wearing our coats as we break open the fortune cookies.

"Many pleasures are on their way," says mine.

I ignore the cardboard flavor as I crush the promise between my teeth.

It costs $15o for the plumber to unclog the drain.

$15,000 to get rid of the shit smell for good.

Mom, it's too cold in here.

I shoot the plumber a text. Armor my nostrils with peppermint oil.

Turn the heater on.

We sip hot chocolate and read stories about children forced to leave their homes

Travel across oceans.

Seek safety in the unknown.

The furnace hums foul but warm as the kids fight over who gets bedtime snuggles first.

Twice, my phone pings.

Love you with a kissing emoji, says the text from Grandma.

From the plumber,

Be there at 8.

I soften the squabbles by pulling them all into my bed.

We huddle up close and watch the snow fall through the window.

One by one, their breathing slows,

bodies soften, and I'm grateful for their warmth.

It costs $15,000 to replace the pipes.

I kiss each rosy cheek

pull the blanket over my head,

bury my nose in my daughter's hair.

It costs $15,000...

A cloud of orange blossom shampoo carries me away.