Playing Santa.

It dawned on me over the weekend that Joey and I get to be Mr. & Mrs. Claus this year. And because I have a small (read: ginormous) obsession with Christmas, my gift shopping is typically done (and wrapped, thankyouverymuch) by November.

...which means it's time to get moving.

Alex's latest obsession is with balls. Hello, 12-year-old boys that got here on a Google dare. I had a not-so-glamorous parent moment last night over a set of pool cue balls that he deviously got his little paws on. Let's just say I tried to make it a teaching moment and failed. Miserably.

So in an effort to give the child some non-porcelain balls to throw at my face, I've ordered a set of pit balls for Santa to bring down our chimney.

We can bring his inflatable pool in the basement and use it as the "pit." Brills, no? Thanks for the inspiration, Blair.

I Go Walking In My Sleep.

Meh. Today was Day 2 of Bootcamp. Katie (also known as "world's most evil trainer") made us partake in a loverly little obstacle course with a dash of circuit training thrown in.

Here's what I've learned so far:

• Running up and down steps sucks a great deal of ass.
• You use your hamstrings for ev-ah-ree-thang. I know this because I can FEEL them. Even when I don't move.
• My triceps? Weak as a kitten.
• 5:30 a.m. isn't so bad. Like, on a scale of 1 to Hiroshima, it's like a 5.2.

And let's just be clear on one thing, shall we? I do not desire an early morning chitty chat on our mile run warmup with the cheerfully disgusting and skinny LAWYER with perfect hair, booty and adorably matching Puma workout gear. I don't want to hear about your OPTHAMOLOGIST boyfriend or his perfect life/hair/ass/car, either. I just want to run, hating you all the while for motivation to keep going. Mmmmmkay?

It Happened.

For the first time on Tuesday, I was that mom with that kid.

"What?!" You exclaim. "Alex is an Angel!"

Eh. Notsomuch.

Don't get me wrong, I still maintain that Alex on his worst day is still better than the worst kid on his best day, but Tuesday was the day it happened. He threw a public tantrum and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.

The worst of it? He was getting his hair cut.

This is his third haircut. You might remember that the first two were hugely successful. He was such a good boy and sat still and even got a sucker when it was all said and done. Not this time.

Basically, he screamed and screamed and wouldn't sit still. I'm not into bribing a kid to be good, but he wasn't even having the cookie or sucker I offered. Obvi, I was flying solo, so Joe wasn't there to help with reinforcements and I pretty much just wanted to disappear into the floor and never return.

That said, we survived. But even survival at its best still resulted in my kid looking like he joined the Marines:

The few. The proud. The Alex monster.