Patrick (holding a wrapped, rectangular package): It's the 3DS I ordered!!! And Sonic!!

Me: How do you know?

Patrick: Santa put a yellow sticky note on the bottom that says Patrick's 3DS and Sonic!

For several months after my last half marathon I had a band-aid on my toe to cover up a disgruntled toenail that wanted to emancipate itself from my body in a very ugly and public way.  Read any running magazine or talk to other runners and you will hear similar toenail horror stories. And you will accept it’s just one of those things.

Distance x Feet Smacking Pavement = Wear + Tear - Toenail.

Nothing much you can do but cringe and move on.

Unless, of course, you are a Solver. The Solver can neither accept nor move on. The Solver must solve.

Do you think your running shoes are too small? wonders The Solver.

Well heck, Solver, it’s funny. I’ve been running for about 25 years now, and I have never (not once!) thought to ask myself: Do these shoes fit my feet? THANK YOU. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LIFE ALTERING INSIGHT.

Now. I know you'll find this very difficult to believe, but I'm going to ask you to dig deep here and stretch those imaginations of yours to fathom what I'm about to tell you: 

I fell again last week.

AGAIN! 

Again!!

DO I HAVE A DISEASE?

Triptism? 
Clutzepholitis?   

I don't know.

It was the same exact fall I always do, my signatureTM you might call it, except this time there was nothing whatsoever to trip me.

Just SPLAT (@#@%&^!). And the bloody knee, and the bloody elbow, and the shoulder that isn't nestled quite right in its socket, and the jog of shame home, and the difficulty with stairs. 

One week later, I'm mostly healed. (My knees are permanently scarred at this point, I'm pretty sure). But I can't bring myself to run. I'm afraid to run, because I'm afraid I'll fall. Twenty-five years of running and now? I have this weird (crazy) (but hunchy!) feeling that the next fall will be of the "I can't get up" variety. That next time will be the time that granny don't come home. 

It's nuts. I know that. 

Sort of.

There's just something so violent about the way I fall. I wish I could accurately describe how hard I've been hitting the ground. This last time I actually paused for a second to see if I was dead. 

I just don't think I can fall like that again and still have nice things. Like a spleen. And brain activity. 

So I'm looking for a Solver. 

Have you ever experienced a weird hunch that the universe is trying towarn you? That a fall is more than just a fall? 

I posted Patrick's author bio on Facebook earlier tonight. He dictated the whole thing to me and asked me to share it.

Patrick never wants me to post things on Facebook. So this was big stuff.

Patrick O'Brien - Author Bio

Patrick O’Brien has published three books: Me and the Messy Hotel, Going to Disney World, and Can’t Kill the Zombie. He lives in Nashville, Tennessee, on <removed for author's privacy> Street. His favorite thing to do is go camping. He won the Number One Author award at school in Ms. Harper’s first grade. He does not like to wear skinny pants, especially at school, because Areyeh tells his brother Gus what he wears when he wears skinny jeans. His brother once was on the news and he’s especially into lots of things. Patrick has two real phones and an iPod and he’s got one fake phone and a office phone AND(!) a old fashioned phone. 

To learn more about my life and my books go to Ms. Harper’s class library, and you might see a book typed out by Patrick O’Brien. Have fun learning in my books!

Since several people asked whether any of Patrick's published work is available online, I thought I'd share this one, which Gus "ilistrated".

Can't Kill the Zombie by Patrick O'Brien (Age 6)
Ilistrated by Gus O'Brien (age 8) 

Once upon a time there was a cop walking in the woods. He smelled a zombie on the prowl. It smelled like horse poop. He could even hear a zombie munching the leaves. 

The zombie came closer and closer and closer. The cop did not have any of his weapons or his baton or his gun. 

So, he had an idea. He rubbed two sticks together and he finally made a fire. So he threw that lit stick and threw it at the zombie but the zombie did not die. And as you know zombies can only walk and speed-walk. So, the cop ran to his car and the zombie fainted on his fort because he was so tired.

The End.

And also, I think, just the beginning.

For those of you who don't see my shameless bragging on Facebook, allow me to repeat my shameless bragging here for your convenience (YOU'RE WELCOME!):

Gus has been performing with a local children's theater company called The Theater Bug, one of the best things things that could happen to an eight year old boy with thespian tendencies. Right now the kids are rehearsing for the Winter Cabaret and on Friday night they got a chance to perform a few songs from the show at the Family Wash, an East Nashville restaurant/music venue/hotspot that not only makes THE BEST vegetarian shepherd's pie--but is now using their pie making powers for the higher good. I had no idea Fox News was recording when Gus was singing (Justin Bieber's Mistletoe, in case you were curious) so seeing this clip came as an awesome Saturday night surprise.

Two green pillow cases: $2
One red felt table runner, cut in half: $1
One lady's red pleather belt: $1
One red toddler boa: $1
Two Santa hats: $2 
Cobbling together two elf costumes, under $10, in less than 20 minutes so your boys can make a "Slow Motion" Elf Video?

Priceless. 

Each year at this time, our church does an unrehearsed Christmas pageant during the morning service. Larry gets roped into playing a wiseman. I've been an angel two years running. But this year, bigger things were in store: Jesus, Mary and Joseph were home with the whooping cough and Larry and I got to make our big debut.

Gus was thrilled, of course. He walked all around the sanctuary telling people his mother was about to give birth to the baby Jesus. 

Patrick, on the other hand, was mortified.

-DON'T DO IT. 

-We have to.

-You CAN'T. I don't want you guys SITTING up there with everyone looking at you.

-Why on earth not, Sweetie? 

It will be HEAVENLY.

XOXO,

Virgin Mommy