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.

Just because I'm a mother doesn't mean I can't rock out to Justin Timberlake.

Tonight in an attempt to entertain the children (and distract them from trying to eat Charming's late evening dinner themselves), I told the girlies we'd have a "dancing party". I flipped through my cd album, thinking to find some generic kiddie music (you know, the kind with Barney type drums, trumpets, and whistles in the background while some nasal voice sings about all the colors of the rainbow etc.), when my eyes paused on a cd I have long ago stopped listening to. Almost immediately my heart rate accelerated as memories flashed through my mind of the distant past and I contemplated the possibilities of the immediate future. I dropped the cd in and pushed play.

And I totally rocked out to N'sync.

I'm not talking about doing the twist or skipping through Ring Around the Rosie with my children. I'm talking about some serious booty-shaking, body-waving, come hither moves that have been sleeping dormant for years. Well tonight my "moves" sat right up out of bed, stretched and yawned, and headed out the door to get a PhD in..... nevermind.

I have never been ashamed to admit that I was an avid N'sync fan back in the day. My zeal for the group and all things teeny-bopper stretched as far as I was physically and legally aloud to go considering my financial situation, teenage status, and moral upbringing. (Just the sheer hottness of Taylor Hanson (from, you know--Hanson), prompted me to break up with a boyfriend because he just didn't "do it for me" the same way Taylor did....) It's hard to believe, but I probably listened to the same eight cd's during a five year period, and nothing else. I wanted nothing more and I was blissfully happy.

I believe deep down in every girl's soul there is a part of her that wants to break free and dance to The Backstreet Boys, or N'sync, or New Kids on the Block, or Donny Osmond--or whatever. Every generation has their celebrity boy toys. Nowadays girls freak out when Zac Efron busts out a note (who wouldn't with that constant, intense stare?), and my mom will break out "the swim", or worse--"the pony" when she hears the Osmonds. For years she has embarrassed me with her unabashed dance moves in her attempt to remember her youth and feel a little crazy and free again. My sisters and I would always cry with dismay to "Oh my gosh stop Mom, what are you DOING?!?!".

It was like a slap in the face tonight when I experienced the exact same thing. I thought I was young enough to still pass as cool when I danced--but to my children I am their mother, despite the fact that I am only twenty-five, and apparently they would like me to retain that title with dignity. Buttercup didn't like it. She said, "No Mama, don't do THAT!" (I think even Alex was a bit chagrined--I noticed how he tried to slyly close all the blinds so that the neighbors wouldn't see...) It was in that moment that I remembered my own mother dancing her heart out, kicking her feet around the room at odd angles to "The Pony", and I felt a stronger kinship with her that ever before. Yes, I still shudder a little when I picture her dancing away in the kitchen (sorry, Mom), but I know now where she's coming from, that she was young once--and still is in a lot of ways.

So bring on the music!!! HRH and Jaction, I know you'd be up for a good dance fest. Call all the girls and we'll move out all the furniture (like we did in college) and invite everyone in the building to stomp it out to Michael Jackson. If that can't be arranged, I'd settle for just my four sisters, in the kitchen and bottling tomatoes as we rock out to High School Musical or whatever. Just make sure it's a hott guy singing. (Or in Michael Jackson's case, a former hott guy.)

All Dressed-Up and Nowhere To Go

Yesterday Buttercup decided she wanted to get into the dress-ups. I "hide" the dress-ups in the corner behind our big sofa-chair, in order to minimize their use. The few times a month Buttercup manages to remember the dress-ups existence, the blouses and skirts and purses and shoes and tiaras and scarves and belts and leotards get scattered all around the house. Buttercup is familiar with each item--most of which have been bestowed on her by adoring grandparents (thank you so much)--and she knows how to get the most out of her spoils. I have been quite shocked at some of the fashion statements she has made, such as wearing turtlenecks on her head for veils etc., but the best outfits have been the simplest.

Buttercup's statement of choice yesterday, and continuing on into today, has included a lime-green swimsuit/leotard with a picture of Tinkerbell on the front, with petal-like wispy thingies adorning her waste, and a serious wedgie thrown into the mix. She could have called it good from there, but she hadn't forgotten the most important of accessories--shoes. Her feet sported plastic red highheels with a picture of Snow White on the front, surrounded in mounds of fluff. Throughout the day if you listened carefully, you could hear the click, click, click of Buttercup's heels as she pranced around the house in her garb. She was hott, and she knew it. I'm telling you, the kid's confidence levels rose drastically when wearing said outfit.

As I watched her, I realized that this outfit on any adult would send an entirely different message--desperate, nuts, white-trash, and last-but-not-least: woman of the night. That's probably why we don't don these sort of get-ups. But children can and they do. They get away with so much more than we adults could possibly attempt (not that we would necessarily want to). For instance, what if we all wore onesies and sailor hats? Or had sponge-bob on our underwear? (I have actually seen grown-up underwear at Walmart with Spongebob, please tell me you refrain.)

I remember being about eight years old and wearing blood-red lipstick every day for a week (this must have happened during summer vacation, because I can't imagine my mother sending me out the door that way). I also frequently wore my mother's full-body slip and would don one of those thick, eighties-style headbands on top of my head like a crown. Often, when I was over six years old, I would wear my swimsuit and stuff it with socks to give myself a bosom. Now this was a little funny for my parents to witness, but keep in mind that it doesn't make it okay for adults! As a child I had no idea how ridiculous I looked; on the contrary, I felt beautiful and glamorous. My confidence soared when I expressed myself in this fashion. I am sure that my husband, friends, and family are all pleased that I do not continue to show my wild side in this avenue. That's why we take pictures, so we never have to dress up like that again and then we can embarrass ourselves at future family gatherings, wedding videos, and the like.

Do you have any funny stories about you or your children? Especially ones that are made hilarious in the context of adulthood?