how old IS too old for a weiner?

One of my mom's teacher friends taught me how to juggle after school one afternoon. His name was Mr. Cutiepie and he was a swim coach at the YMCA to make extra money on the side. He was younger than my mom. By a lot. And he was a math teacher. Hot in that nerdy sweater vest and sneakers sort of way. My taste hasn't changed, although every attempt to get my husband into a sweater vest has bombed miserably... he who wears a pink bow tie to work must draw a line SOMEWHERE.
So in the quiet classroom of Pine View Middle, Mr. Hottiepants and I stood tossing fuzzy neon tennis balls up into the air for an hour or so while my mother graded papers and smoked a cigarette at her desk. He was my first and only teacher crush. He wasn't even MY teacher. I got stuck with Ms. Hamsterarm for math. She has a mole that resembled a hamster both in shape and size on her forearm. It had realllly long hair. And possibly a tail. Nowhere near as attractive as Mr. Cutiepie. He had a swimmer's ass.

But I really wanted to talk about juggling. I can do it. Not cirq du soliel well. But well enough that when people ask me if I can juggle {happens allll the time}, I can say yes. Don't ask me for a demonstration. I only got up three balls and can do a rotation just a few times. After that, I start running all over like a beheaded chicken and then the balls start dropping.

See? I'm getting to the point. Drawing parallels, people. I am busy these days. I've traded balls for babies and today someone tossed in a sick husband home early from work. The deadline for my next article is sneaking up on me and after playing back to back games of rake/broom/mop ball with the neighbor kids I barely can keep myself together long enough to spread peanut butter on a whole wheat bagel for dinner. Which I eat standing up over the sink while Sam paws at it and drools. It's the end of the day, I'm exhausted. Yet I feel like I have accomplished very little. The house is a disaster and I look like a character from the finale of any Bruce Campbell movie. In cutoffs and a Miley Cyrus shirt from Wal-Mart. {I can't believe I just said that}

So instead of worrying about all the stuff I should've crammed into my day, I'm taking a different route. Making a list of all the stuff that wasn't on the agenda, but dun got did anyway. Starting with...

1. writing a blog post kind of about juggling
2. pumped four, count em, FOUR sets of bicycle tires. {rode zero bikes}
3. ate three meals plus a bag of chocolate pretzels standing up
4. took a bath with the baby at noon to prevent meltdown(s)
5. picked up extra child at the bus {his mom knows}
6. sent exactly fifteen text messages to people
7. drove in a circle around Sanford just once to put Sam to sleep and listen to Garrison Keelor on NPR
8. washed and dried six fuzzibunz diapers
9. accidentally ate an expired hot dog
10. ran next to Ladybug's bike while she "balanced" then hurled herself into the grass a dozen times {training wheels came off tuesday}
11. almost got a photo of JG sleeping with a tissue shoved up his nostril

Damn. Everything else can wait. I've had a pretty decent day. AND everyone in the house is fed and asleep and it's only eight thirty! Holy smokes, I amaze myself. Now if I could only stay awake to tell you a little more about the rules of a highly sophisticated game called broom/mop/rake ball. And there's always the dead chicken stories. I have several of those.

*Yawn.