What are we going to do with this kid? 

This kid who wants to be "a kid in a movie". Who, when I thought he was reading quietly in the office next to mine, had sneaked off to the photography studio and landed himself an impromptu photo shoot.

"Check your transfer folder," he said, popping up behind me, before I even knew he was missing. "There are pictures in there of me doing Thriller."

Those are his new "skinny" pants, by the way. His velveteen lady pants died tragically when Gus knocked over our Tiffany lamp and broke the LED lightbulb inside. OH NO! DID MERCURY SPLASH ON YOUR VELVETEEN SKINNY PANTS THAT ARE THREADBARE AT THE KNEES AND STARTING TO MAKE YOU LOOK LIKE A HOMELESS PERSON? TOO BAD, SO SAD.

Every chemical spill has a silver lining.

Rumor has it Santa has procured three pairs of real skinny pants for the young Mick Jagger to enjoy, since Sir Mick refuses to wear anything else. Santa was not, however, able to find white skinny pants, given that it is December, and the vast majority of first grade boys aren't eager to dress like Siegfried and Roy.  

Gus has also added two items to his "order", since his list was mailed to the post office also known as my purse. He has sat on the laps ofthree Santas now and requested "An electric scooter, and a party on the beach." 

The third Santa, who was the special guest at a private party, was so amused by this request, he walked up to me and a group of women and said, "You will not believe what some kid just asked me for."

Try me, Santa.

"Some kid just sat on my lap and asked for an electric scooter and a party on the beach!"

"That would be my son."

I watched as Santa proceeded to walk around and tell the story to everyone in the room, including Larry, who chuckled and pretended Gus belonged to someone else. 

I don't think Gus fully believes in Santa, but he's chosen to pretend he does, probably in the hopes that we'll buy him that $400 electric scooter he saw at Wal-Mart. The odds of that happening are about as good as the odds of me making a necklace out of the teeth Gus found in the super secret compartment of my jewelry box last night when I was in the shower. 

"WHAT ARE ALL THESE TEETH DOING HERE, MOM?"

(@#%^% Stalling, stalling ...) "What do you mean? What teeth?"

"There's a bag of TEETH in your jewelry box."

"What do you mean there's a bag of TEETH in there?"

"(Holding up the bag of teeth with a look of horror on his face) LOOK!"

"GROSS! WHOSE ARE THEY?"

"I have no idea!"

"Wait. Gus. Do you think ... No .. Surely not."

"What? What, Mom?"

"Do you think maybe those are YOUR teeth? Like the tooth fairy took them from under your pillow and put them in my jewelry box so I would make a necklace out of them or something?"

The next thing I know he was pawing through my jewelry looking for a chain.

I mumbled something about needing a drill to make holes in the teeth and wandered off toward the kitchen, mentally kicking myself in the head. 

Teeth necklace. NICE SAVE.

I always suspected the Tooth Fairy wasn't that bright.

There's a technique I use to calm myself, when Gus is engaged in some wildly annoying and out-of-control behavior.

I stop. And I ask myself, what would Charles Ingalls do?

If faced with this very moment, what would Pa do?

Good Pa.

Kind, patient Pa.

Tender Pa.

God fearing, hard working, prone-to-tears-of-joy Pa.

What would Pa do?

 And the answer is always the same.

Pa would be trasnformed into an axe-swinging homicidal maniac.

I know he would.

And it makes me feel good.  

Not that I'm in the market for a job. As you well know, I peruse the Craigslist job listings strictly for entertainment purposes. 

But, man is this one tempting.

Of course it was only a matter of time. I told myself I could just run another half—that lots of people run lots of halfs before they ever attempt a full--and myself laughed haughtily and told me to suck it. 

So I signed up for the full Country Music Marathon training and will spend the next four months freezing my ass off running 10 and 20 milers in the bitter cold at the crack of dawn WAIT WHY DID I SIGN UP FOR THIS?! training toward a positive and worthwhile goal. 

Well, maybe not worthwhile. But healthy for sure!

Or maybe not entirely healthy. But INSANE! Definitely insane. 

But a "good" insane. Unlike the kind of insane that happens when you spend an entire winter with your mouth full of crunched up fruit stripe candy canes. 

NOM NOM NOM, leave me alone this one was from the back, no, only Mommies are allowed to eat the candy canes off the tree. The elves turn the candy canes into poison when little boys do it. Of course the elves are nice! They poison the candy canes out of love.

Winters are tough. 

The dark. The cold. The butter cookies. 

Not to mention the butter sculptures. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I love this weird country of ours.  

But I’ve made so much progress with running over the past year, I didn’t want to throw it all away over a couple of months of OH WHO CARES IT’S CHRISTMAS NEW YEARS VALENTINE’S DAY ST. PATRICK’S DAY THE HOLIDAYS.

So I’m training for a marathon insane. Ha ha! See what I just did there? I meant to type instead, but I typed INSANE. 

So. There you have it.