Greetings From the Deep Freeze

We had plans to go sledding this afternoon with my brother and neice. Not happening.

Instead, I sit here in a little pool of sunshine from the window, wrapped in as many blankets as I could find, gazing enviously at the roaring fire photos everyone is sharing on Instagram. The nerve! Especially that one who was so bold as to complain about the embers popping out at her and burning holes in her new Christmas robe....pfft. Lovely hot embers....

I introduce you to my roaring hot fire:

It's not easy getting this coveted spot in the house, but I was able to get most the little guys busy with games and books and I *think* they didn't hear the furnace kick on this time. After all, it has been coming on frequently with only a couple minutes of down time between blasts of chill-vanquishing warmth, despite being set in the mid 60's. Cranking her up to 75° just once to bake the cold out of my bones is as close as I'm going to get to crackling coziness.

Ian has been protesting this cold snap in right form today. I'm sure his runny nose isn't doing much to promote a good mood. Any attempts on my part to sooth or distract only made matters worse, and so I let the little dictator drive his crazy train until it ran out of steam.

Crankiness abides often with almost-two-year olds, and he spent an amazing amount of time this morning fighting the couch. It was profoundly offensive to him. And then when it refused to fight back he moved on to his jammies. If you didn't know better you would have been convinced they were covered in acid and burning his skin off. Once offending jammie leg was rolled up off his shin he brought me one black and neon green sock, motioned that he wanted it on his foot, and giggled as I slid it on. He continued giggling like a maniac, racing around the house like the wings of Nike had been welded to his feet, and tantrum was officially over. If I had known one black and green sock had the ability to produce such an effect, we may have been able to detour much of the drama. Or maybe he just needed to find the solution for himself?

If he wasn't so cute he'd be for sale. Kidding! I think.

It's nearing dinner, and I suppose I should pry myself out of my cocoon to find food. It very much feels like a comfort food kind of day, though I haven't a clue where it would come from. Sunday's are my kitchen strike days. This whole food business is a mystery of epic proportions right now. I think the cold has frozen my brain.