Crib Notes - Laughing in Heavenly Places

Polar bears don't need to worry about losing habitat.
They can just come over to our house.

Personally, I have found that God has quite a sense of humor.

For example, when we were waiting for the day for my youngest to finally take up residence in my womb I said to anyone who would listen “if this kid doesn’t get here soon, I’m going to give up. I don’t want to be changing diapers when I’m 40 years old.”

My youngest was born exactly 3 months before my 40th birthday. And, as you might imagine, she was not at that point potty trained.

It was about then that I decided never, ever to deliver any ultimatums to the power that be.

This has not slowed down the number of times I’ve gotten the message that periodically there are some serious belly laughs up there arising from the “little twists of fate” around here.

For example, our air conditioner went on strike on a Friday afternoon. Which reminds me - why is it that nothing ever quits working on a Monday or Wednesday? Do appliances actually understand the concept of weekends?

Actually, just between us, I was secretly at fault. I’ve always referred to our home as the Arctic Circle because I live with three human polar bears who sweat profusely if the temperature indoors rises above 68 degrees.

In the meantime I’m shivering in August and wearing three layers of clothes all year round. I have longed to be able to walk into the house and not have to get my wool socks on to eat dinner.

Yes, I may have said, under my breath, I wish I could be in a warm house for a change.

So, during the a/c strike, I actually walked around my own house without a sweater for DAYS. The air conditioner unit refused to budge from its demand for Mr. Kool-it and his happy cans of Freon who would arrive on Monday. For three glorious days I was comfortable for the first time since I hooked up with these polar bears.

It wasn’t as fun as it should have been because some people whined as if they had been left to crawl through the Sahara in itchy long underwear. They each ate four gallons of ice cream in desperation to cool their molten cores.

By Monday evening the a/c was humming, I was back in my fleece, and in gratitude we’d sworn to name our next pet Mr. Kool-it.

Fortunately there may be an ironic solution in sight. Apparently women of a certain, ahem, age can… well, get a little warmer than normal.

Yes. I can hear the laughter already.