Ok, so what you need to know is that it's -22 degrees here. Not wind chill. TEMPERATURE. Also you should know that I don't always think things through before acting, and I love nothing better than a "teachable moment."
Moving on... this evening as we're getting ready to eat dinner, Bear enthusiastically tells us that one of her teachers said she was going to go home and try throwing a glassful of water (minus the glass) into the air to see if the water froze before hitting the ground. Sounds intriguing, right? I thought so.
I fill a glass with cold water, say, "Follow me, kids!" and boldly step outside into the Arctic air wearing just pajamas and slippers. I hustle out to the sidewalk, with eager children and curious cats peering out the door after me.
"You'll have to throw it pretty high," hollers Daddy Shortbread from the warmth of the living room.
Putting some muscle behind it, I fling the contents of the cup into the air. The girls watch with interest as the water (not ice) droplets rain down, drenching my hair and shoulders.
I stand in my pajamas on the icy sidewalk, outside in the -22 degree night with wet hair and holding an empty cup, and think this, THIS is motherhood. Sucker.