Oh. My. (Insert panicky-freakout word of choice here).

So I believe I have mentioned of late that I live at the North Pole--or somewhere very close by. Today church was cancelled due to terrible weather conditions and the hazards of traveling. The high for today on my at home thermometer was negative 9 degrees Fahrenheit. Yich. It was usually colder. The high for tomorrow is about 11 below with a wind chill of negative 40--I don't think I'm going visiting teaching like I had previously planned. Anywho, the point is it has been an awful, yucky, nastified day (weather wise).

I wanted to break up the frigid hours with our regular "quiet time" we have every afternoon after lunch. Lou Lou was tucked in her bed and Charming sleeping on the couch downstairs while Buttercup played quietly near by. I myself laid down in my own room to try and get some serious shut-eye. Lou Lou had other plans and so after awhile I sent her downstairs to "play quietly" with her sister. I would never have done this if Charming hadn't been there sleeping in the same room.

After some time went by (long enough for me to feel rested), I heard some commotion downstairs and then a big whap followed by a heartrending wail. I laid in bed thinking, "What in the world is going on to cause such chaos in my absence?" Charming soon came tromping up the stairs and related the following horror:

Buttercup and Lou Lou had somehow pulled a chair up to the counter in the kitchen, gotten into the cupboards and stolen an open bag of chocolate chips (my drug of choice), grabbed an apple and and orange on the way down, and then for good measure swiped a butter knife--all of which they tenderly placed in a basket. Buttercup then put on her shoes (no coat), and took her coatless, shoeless sister down onto the landing by the front door, where she then opened the (almost always dead-bolted) front door. It was as she was struggling with the semi-frozen shut screen door that Charming found her there, where Buttercup frantically explained that she and Lou Lou were going outside to "visit a friend" (hence the picnic basket).

AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!! What if they had made it outside? What if Charming and I had both continued to sleep through it all? I know for a fact that Buttercup cannot open the door from the outside. My babies could have literally frozen to death within a few minutes just outside my front door. It gives me chills even beginning to contemplate what that would have meant.

Poor Buttercup was tear-streaked and very "woe is me" when I got to her. I think Charming's reaction frightened her a little. But I wanted to make sure this never happened again, and so I explained to her that she could have died. I don't know if that was the right thing to do or not--the poor child is only three and a half years old. When I said the word die she had another breakdown and seemed quite shocked and scared, but at least now she knows the danger and I'm pretty sure (I hope) she won't attempt to trek through the North Pole again.

The drama was followed by a pile of loves and kisses and I believe all is well once more.

My lazy version of the annual Christmas card.

So I haven't yet reached that place in my life where I'm so organized and cutsie that I send out a yearly Christmas card--not even one with just the family picture and a "Happy Holidays!" tacked on. I do enjoy the cards and letters my mother gets from old friends and extended family, often with creative updates on each family member. So today I started thinking about what my family Christmas card might say as of this very morning. And so I begin my haphazard off-the-top-of-my-head Broughton family update.

Charming: Very neat and tidy. He not only can't study without his "office" being clean, but he threatens a coronary every time he sees that the neighbor kids have walked through "our nice fresh snow" and left tracks right through the center of the yard! An amazing fix-it-guy, he took apart our entire electric wheat grinder, carefully dusted the caked on flour from it's bowels, fixed whatever had stopped it from turning on, and put it all back together like it was new--all within about a 20 minute period. Does the dishes every night. Continually promises to read Twilight but won't give a deadline. Brings Megs roses just because he loves her.

Megs: Needs something to read. Just finished The Hunger Games at the recommendation of Stephenie Meyer and is still seriously confused by her love/hate relationship with it. Why did the author have to drop that bomb in the last chapter? Why did nobody mention that it was the first book in a trilogy, the next book of which will not be out for a year? Started a local book club just to find more books to read--their still aren't enough. Lives in complete terror of, and still fluttering with excitement thinking of the moment when she discovers she's pregnant.

Buttercup: Drama, drama, drama. Is three too soon for a girl to get her period? Because Buttercup is very PMSy. Weeps in gushes like her heart will break when told that she cannot watch The Berenstein Bear's Christmas Tree for a fourth time this morning. Sobs if her little sister looks at her like she might be thinking mean thoughts. Constantly planning her wedding to "Cornelius" from Thumbelina, from her dress all the way down to what will be served at the reception (Princess gummy snacks anyone?). Has recently been scarred for life when her mother told her she could no longer ask "But WHY?" every thirty seconds about every detail on our blessed green earth.

Lou Lou: Has built a summer home in her time-out corner. Might as well be comfortable when you spend half your life there... Completely knocked over the sacred Broughton family Christmas tree this morning, squishing it's fake branches into odd shapes and leaving half the ornaments on the floor. Thinks she's a "kitty-cat" and meows when being rescued from her crib after naptime. Can speak very clearly, but often uses a high-pitched "eeeeeeeeee" to ask for pretzels and the like. Prefers a dolphin to a teddybear at bedtime.

This was just a glimpse--not an overview of our lives and personalities. I love them all so much. And apparently, despite it all, they love me too!

Let yourself go...

My Aunt Betsy is a hilarious woman who has a bubbly personality that makes you feel comfortable and want to laugh all at once. Over the years I have gathered several silly songs from her, some I'm sure she has made up on the spot and many she has pulled from the "funny file" in her brain. I remember once being on a killer hike with her and we were both complaining that we needed to go potty (at least that's what my good manners call it). She burst out: "I'll be gladder when my bladder is flatter!" Much giggling followed.

There is one song in particular from Aunt Betsy that has stuck with me over the years. It is sung to the tune of Let It Snow, and it seems appropriate today:

Oh the hair on my legs is frightful,
But the warmth is so delightful!
And since I've no place to go,
Let it grow, let it grow, let it grow!

It's cold here at the North Pole (that's where I live isn't it? Just lacking elves and reindeer...) and the snow is slowly piling up. I am not in the mood to shave my legs just so I can give myself a razor rash the goose bumps inspired. Nor do I think it necessary to flaunt my legs in 5 degree weather....Charming will understand.

So here's to the fuzzy warmth I intend to retain until next Spring... sometime in May. Will you join me women of the North? Or women anywhere who are cold for that matter? Take a stand and let your legs go.

I beg your pardon...

The other day I was minding my own business when Buttercup announced boldly, "Mama, I don't like your bottom!" I was a little crushed by such a hurtful pronouncement. After all--isn't it important to us all that our children are proud of their mother's assets? (Please know that I'm kidding.) I just responded, "Yeah, me neither", and left it at that.

I naively thought the criticisms were over when later that day Charming came to me looking a little forlorn. "Buttercup told me she doesn't 'like my lips'!"

Harsh.

I let him know I liked his lips plenty, and he in turn assured me that my "bottom" was just fine. (That was not supposed to come out sounding as dirty as it did. There are no innuendos on this blog. But the naughtier side of me likes the wording--too funny!)