It's 19* with 6-10 inches of quickly-falling snow. Charis takes off her PJs and, as usual, runs around the house sans clothing. I insist she put some on, so she comes downstairs in a red scotty-dog shirt and a pink, sparkly tutu. Bare legs, of course.
She climbs in my lap, squirming and squealing. I tell her she needs to get down, but she won't. Why not? She's c-c-c-cold, of course.
I send her upstairs to find some pants. She says there are none in her drawers, and decides to put her PJs back on.
Wonder how many times this little story will replay today?