Parents, your children will wash. Their clothes will wash. Let them play in the mud.

Fiona, I'm sending healthma and growma to you and the baby girl.

Jeff, I'm so glad you're back! Thanks for telling the saga.

Everyone else, timelies. Oh, and I agree with the guess that Robin's coworker and the date probably met on nerve.com, or else something like furryandproud.com.

The gutters in front of my cousin's house would always flood when it rained. We'd put on our swimsuits and go out and splash in the flooded street.

I still love the squishy feeling of mud between my bare toes.

24 can stop with the "the President is a big pussy 'cause he doesn't like torture" storyline any day now. I've got a headache from rolling my eyes. I mean, YAY, Return of Palmer, but gah, everything else about it is so annoying. (And how is Jack in charge of a mission again? Didn't he have to resign in the last ep so he could go break thumbs? Did he resign for ten minutes and then get hired back, or did they decide he was just on a break?)

A North American blackfoot coffee ferret drank it.

Heh. Plus when they're caffeinated they're impossible to catch.

ION: When in Seattle, Bono bunks with Bill Gates

They are both into Third World development and relief efforts.

“We’re big believers that more needs to be done in developing countries,” Gates said. “Let me tell you, Bono has had a huge impact.”

...

Asked if their friendship would entice him to buy one of Microsoft rival Apple Computer Inc.’s black-and-red U2 edition iPods, Gates said: “Absolutely not.”

My feelings exactly, Jessica. Though I did like the president realizing that his orders had botched a mission, and he was totally out of his depth I am completely at sea as to Jack's status at CTU.

One thing that I have to be reminded about the fun part of gardening is that you get to play in the dirt. It's never until I'm actually doing it that I remember that. There's also the fun of sowing widespread destruction among the weeds and unruly plants and bugs, in a sort of "the earth minorly trembles at my advent" way.

I am firmly convinced I became an archaeologist because I liked dirt.

Now that I am no longer an archaeologist, I garden. Without gloves. In the messiest possible way.

I am unmotivated at work and mooning over $115 shoes (Dansko sandals, so not entirely impractical, but still money I do not have for shoes.) Maybe I could try to bribe myself to work by promising myself shoes...

Parents, your children will wash. Their clothes will wash. Let them play in the mud.

Someone needed to tell my aunt this when I was young. I spent most of my summers and short vacations at my granparents' playing in the woods and creeks. I'd always come in filthy with leaves and twigs (and probably a bug or two) in my hair. My other aunts (dad's acutal sisters) would just put me in the tub and pick the stuff out of my hair. But this one (my uncles second wife) would tell me I could be so pretty if I'd quit playing in the dirt. Then she'd scrub my face, arms and legs and take a hairbrush to my hair (which when you have curly hair and stuff stuck in it, is really painful). Ugh. She was horrible.

Parents, your children will wash. Their clothes will wash. Let them play in the mud.

My mother's philosophy right there. In the summertime when we'd eat popsicles, she'd make us change into our swim suits then sit us outside to eat our popsicles. When we were done, she'd hose us off.