Whoa. Freaky thunderstorm.

So instead of my walky-run, I did a bike ride on my new bike today. Holy moley!! How did I ever ride for hours and hours as a kid and not get tired?? I thought my thighs were going to esplode. It was a rockin workout and I plan on keeping it up in addition to my walky-runs during lunch at work, but wow. I am going to have some rocking hard leg muscles. And hopefully a nice, tight bum.

Anyone else reminded how lucky MM is?

t blush

I am determined to keep off the quitting smoking/no more thyroid weight and to not be the fat sister at my brother's wedding.

I wish you many wheelies, Aims, as you tauten your tuchas, tone your thighs and cleanse your lungs.

Btw: new haircut? So hot.

Thanks, Hec!! I love it so very much.

How are you doing without your girls?

Sox: what's your priority?
Sprog: what does that mean?
Sox: it's what you want more than all the other things you want right now (like making it to the beach without DH stopping the car because of the happy meal ice age mastodon on repeat)
Sprog: oh. .... I want a real live unicorn and butterflies in my house.

Every time Emeline says she wants something in the whiny voice, Joe tells her, "Well, I want magical pony that poops money." They laugh and move on.

The other day, Joe looked at me and said, "Oooh! You know what I want?" Emeline, who was building stuff on the floor, popped her head up and said, in a very put upon tone, "A magical pony that poops money."

DCJ, it sounds like your house's previous owner and ours were separated at birth. Amazing.

The houses on my street were build in the mid '60s, when, as unlikely as it seems now, this area was relatively rural. In the '70s, the country ran a sewer line to the area and most people connected to the sewer.

At some point in my home's history, it was the victim of a Handyman. The Handyman is an evil creature who thinks he can save money by doing things himself, even though he has no training or aptitude. The Handyman converted the carport and separate laundry area off the carport into a den with a half bath. The now enclosed laundry area is full of odd gaps and lacks insulation. The overhead light is run off an orange outdoor cord run across the ceiling. The half bath has exposed pipes and had several other unfortunate deficits that I've tried to do something about in the last 20 years, hoping that I was not just adding to the Handyman curse.

A few years after I bought my house in '88, I looked out at my back yard and there were bubbles. Bubbles were coming out of the ground and floating away. After discounting the existence of fairies, I called a plumber. It turns out that when the house was connected to the sewer, they left the washer connected to the septic tank, which had in the intervening years reached its bubble capacity. To tie the washer to the sewer, that plumber ran the pipe outside and then made a hole in the brick to run it under the house to the sewer. That hole became one of the passageways for the @#$%^& rats that plagued me for years.

I don't want a seance to connect me with my deceased loved ones; I want a seance to connect me with the previous owners of my houses, so I can ask "Why?"

How are you doing without your girls?

It's actually nice to be alone for a day and a half after spending six days traveling through the South with Emmett seeing family and friends. All of that was stellar good fun and I got to see Ginger, flea (and family) and Amych (and hubbie), but it was a trip short on alone time.

But I pick Emmett up from baseball practice at noon (getting geared up for their all-star run) and we'll probably have an indolent afternoon at the Metreon watching Year One and slounging around in the automatic massage chairs.

And then the girls come home tomorrow and suddenly it's summer with its very different summery rhythms. Huh. I just realized that summer for parents is very different than summer for the not parents.