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.

I still think popsicles are outside food. NSM with the hosing, though.

NSM with the hosing, though.

Water from the hose is cold.

Chikat reminds me of the spoof painting of young Jackson Pollock being fed spaghetti and tomato sauce by his mother....

We had school clothes and play clothes, which we changed into as soon as we got home. My mom didn't care how dirty our play clothes got, or even what they looked like, so old faded t-shirts of my dad's or whatever we wanted were okay.

We had school clothes and barn clothes.