After cutting we did a little rearranging in the office; pulled the door off the bathroom, moved the shelves to fit the soak buckets, moved the locker into the hall, realized we couldn't get the soaker bins out past the locker, moved the locker to where the clothes rack is, and then rearranged everything else around again. We just got way, way too much crap in the office.
Also, we have passed a Milestone: P's waist is now officially bigger than mine. I have lost 3 kilos in the past 3 months and dropped 3 centimeters off the waistband, and she has progressed steadily into pregnant-ness.
We then spent a good hour racing his remote-control Ferrari around the well-waxed wood floor, much to the dismay of his cat, LB.
As a matter of fact, it's genetic. My dad runs. It's a health thing. Recently, he ran the Hope and Possibility Race in Grand Central. Most of the runners had prosthetic limbs or were in a wheelchair or something. My dad's handicap is his twisted sense of humor: note his 'kamikaze' (divine wind) headband.