Minus 27 degrees Celcius. The deep freeze is finally here. The consensus on Facebook yesterday seemed to be the best way to beat the cold was to stay inside.

Not us. We spent three hours down at the lake yesterday, clearing off the rink, skating, skiing and even having a hot dog cookout. After warming up inside, we headed out again, this time in the car to Westport for a church spaghetti supper.

I don’t consider myself high maintenance. I don’t own a Coach purse or Gucci wallet. I drive a 10-year old Honda and I’m just as happy with a simple pasta supper at home or at the church in Westport than getting dressed up and going out to a fancy restaurant.

But there is one luxury I have come to appreciate, especially in the dead of winter–heated car seats.

Whenever we venture out on a cold day, the girls and I race to Dave’s car and fight over the front seat. The victor hops in the passenger side and cranks the dial to 24 or 25 and waits for the warmth of the seat to make their tush tingle. It’s luxury, pure luxury on a cold winter’s day.

Clare usually wins, because she “claims” she gets car sickness in the back seat of Dave’s car. Grace and I think it’s a sinister ruse. Trust me, it’s hard to be sympathetic when the little minx blurts out “My buttocks are burning!”

Happiness isn’t a warm puppy when it’s minus 27 outside. Happiness is a heated car seat.

This week’s #HappyAct is to fight for the front seat, or find something to keep your buns toasty warm. And if one of your kids claims they feel car sick, be heartless. Race as fast as you can to claim the front seat–no butts about it.