One of these days you're gonna have to get a grownup car.

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After making the rounds of my local blogger friends, I'm thanking the PTB that my skylight survived Wednesday's storm ... I know at least three folks who lost theirs. For as much hail as I thought I got here, there was much worse to be had.

I met my folks for dinner last night after we finally got done with O's appointment (Nothing like an hour + wait with your ex and your ornery as hell toddler. Fun.) Bean came running up to meet me as soon as I walked in the door at Chili's, told me she loved me and I was her best friend at least a zillion times, and if she could have burrowed under my skin that *might* have satisfied her need to be close to me. Might have.

I've said it before, but it's such a bipolar experience dealing with Bean. Not that she's bipolar, but the extremes in behavior and

I think I'm having my own midlife crisis. I've been having the worst car envy of late. I drive around wishing I could zap unsuspecting drivers out of their sweet rides, and zap myself into their cars. Sometimes I even imagine zapping the kids over with me. (Sometimes I just figure the unsuspecting drivers would be so excited to inherit a dinged-up minivan and two adorable children that they wouldn't press charges for my zapping.)

My minivan is totally practical and serviceable, but I want something that has some style and some oomph. Something that doesn't scream "mom!" Something that's sexy.


Mmmm ... And M is the key letter here. That's an M6. You wouldn't ever use that much car in the U.S., and, from my limited driving experience in the Mother Country, there's not much use for that much car on the other side of the pond, either. But that car definitely does NOT say mom. Or practical and serviceable. It probably says, to me at least, "For the love of Pete, please stop scraping my mirrors on your garage door opening!!" or "Ack! Could you for once not nail that 12-mile-deep pothole when you cut through that parking lot?!?" or "Look, stop letting the kids eat back here, 'kay? There's only so much sticky, crumby mess that I can take before I back over you in the next parking lot." But if I could afford that much car, it could say whatever it wanted to me as I made all those horsies cringe at my sometimes less-than-stellar attention to the cosmetic details.

You know something sad? Miss O whacked my keyboard at some point and imposed a filing system on my Thunderbird email inboxes that I cannot for the life of me undo. And it annoys the heck out of me that 1. it's there, and 2. my one-year-old is unwittingly more computer savvy than I am.
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