Her preferred method of transportation these days is the hula hoop. Which is not exactly a transportational method per se, but this does not bother her. She hula hoops around the house kicking a ball, picking up toys, dancing to Michael Jackson's Thriller and eating blueberries, though she has yet to master the narrow width of the hallway.
It's friction, of course. The force of friction between her small body and the hoop equal to the pull of gravity. Easy to understand if you have a mind that swallows the small subset symbol of an f or doesn't stop to even question it, or both, but mine does not and the hula hoop jumps away from my hips because it knows. Gravity takes over.
On another note: what would you do with that fugly stone facade fireplace if you were me? The long-term plan is to either blast it off completely or build a wood fascia over it, though we can't afford to do either one right now. Thing is, I can't help but feel like 1974 is staring at me while licking at the corners of its mustache every time I sit in our living room. I vote to paint the stone white as a quick fix, but Bryan says that would be even uglier. So super non-efficient and probably worthless poll: what would you do?