"Speaking of" is Jo's new catchphrase. Typical usage: "Speaking of poop, I really have to go potty right now." Even then, I still find it funny.
Yesterday I took the bike and trailer to do the afternoon pick-up. It's one of the leading strategies in my struggle against carbon emissions, high gas prices, and my own muffin top. Win-win! So I have Jo in the trailer and am carefully walking the bike around the roundabout by her school. Somehow--I couldn't begin to reconstruct how this actually happened--I tore two huge gashes in the back of my right ankle with the gear of my bike. Recall that I wasn't even riding the bike at the time, but walking it. For safety's sake.
I'll spare you a photo but it looks like a panther took a swipe at my Achilles tendon. The best part was I then had no choice but to get on the bike, pedal it over a bridge and continue on to pick up Opie. From her vantage point in the trailer, Jo provided helpful commentary such as "Mommy, that is really gross" and "Now the blood is dripping into your shoe."
This afternoon, no bike. My excuse is that Opie desperately needs a haircut. He's starting to look like the world's shortest Beatle.