Once upon a time, long before I was the Ringmistress of Three Kid Circus, I worked in an accounting office.

This was dull. Meh. If I had a blog back then, it would have been filled with entries about how much I disliked working in an office. And that would get tedious, unlike stories about my kids. Because that NEVER gets old, now does it?

Stifle that yawn, you in the back! I'm getting to my point.

While I was all whacked out on excess caffeine this morning, I actually DID jump on the trampoline. And then I chased my two year old around the yard. This is not a euphemism for 'supervised' - oh no. I actually chased her. She was squealing and running, and I was squealing and running and the dog was completely confused. She didn't know whether to chase me, chase the kid, bark (Fence! Fence! Fence! Fence!) or hide from us.

I gained new respect for the glory and the powah of the 'Bucks.

Anyhoo - running, laller lallering, squealing, all that jazz. It was fun, if a little manic. And it made something pop into my mind, from back in the day when I was Office Jenny.

Once upon a time (yes, I'm using it twice in an entry. You wanna piece of this?) one of my co-workers went to a local drugstore to pick up a prescription on her lunch break. It was probably for something to level her moods. Or, it should have been. Details.

So. She's standing in line, and a mother with her two young children, about 3 and 5 years old were in front of her. The mother kept her eyes on the register from her position several customers back. Her three year old daughter ran wildly in circles, flapping her arms. Meanwhile, her ruddy-faced, blond-headed son started sort of squatting and hopping around.

"Mommy! I hafta go."

Without a backwards glance, the mother said, "Not now. We're almost at the front of the line."

Screwing up his face, the boy whined again. "Mommy, I really hafta go."

"You're just going to have to wait, Sam."

Sam was getting stressed out, and began to grunt a little. He tried again.

"Mommy! I hafta go poooooooooo."

At this point, his little sister ran up to him, put her hands on her hips and proclaimed:

"Just run around, Sam, and your poo will go away!"

This little anecdote was told and retold around the office, and we all had ourselves a good laugh over Sam and his sister. My parents and siblings also enjoyed this story, and will bust out an occasional "Just run around, Sam!"

Um, the end. There is no point to this entry after all.