Stupid Fist Bump

The fist bump is stupid and I'm sick of it. Seriously, does anyone else not see this? I keep waiting for the witty social commentary on the news or in a sitcom about how stupid the fist bump is. But I wait in vain. It came and now it's time for it to go. But it's lingering a little longer than expected. I really believe everyone thinks it's stupid, but due to group mentality and the pressure to fit in and be cool and act younger, no one wants to say anything.

Ok. Let's get to the crux of it. Describe the moments in which you'd typically like to "fist bump"... ok, screw it, "high five" someone (because no one really wants to fist bump anyone)? What do every single one of these moments have in common: adrenaline and emotion. When you high five someone, you can get as carried away as you want. You can really wind up and smack that hand. Sometimes it hurts and you regret it a little bit, true. But you're not going to break any bones. The fist bump is precarious in nature, not an action that matches the emotion of the moment. By definition, you must approach fist bumps gingerly, with a controlled, gentle knocking of knuckles. These are none of the things I want to be distracted with in the heat of the moment. I want to smack someone's hand and smack it hard. And I believe, everyone else feels the same way. Can you imagine a full force fist bump in the heat of the moment at the end of some championship of anything other than chess? There would be broken bones. It's just stupid. And who ever invented it was not thinking. But everyone else who does it is not thinking even more. Take a stand. Refuse to fist bump. High five like God intended.

Finding My Clavicle

I'm sure I have one, a clavicle that is. But I can't remember if I've ever really seen it. So it's time. I'm on a mission to find my clavicle. Actually, I guess there are two of them. So I want to find them both. I mean, I can reach up and dig around and feel them. But I want more than tactile evidence. I want visual confirmation. People magazine had a section this week on a bunch of "regular" people that lost 100 pounds or more. And what did they all have in common? That's right, clavicles. Before pictures: no clavicles. After pictures: glorious, arrogant clavicles. So apparently, if you lose weight, you get a couple clavicles. That's what I want. Now I don't have 100 pounds to lose. I'd be dead if I did. But I definitely have weight to lose in multiples of ten. Once you see them, clavicles, that is, it's hard not to see them. In fact, I see these skinny people and I can't deny it, I want their clavicles. I know, creepy. And apparently there's no other way to reveal them than through an excavation of sorts. So I'm beginning my personal dig to unearth my clavicles. Wish me luck and I promise to share if I can ever see them when I look in the mirror. I might even let you touch 'em.

Again, Mommy, Again.

So I'm singing to my daughter tonight, and she says, "Again, Mommy, again." And in that moment it struck me that there is no greater validation that a parent ever receives than when their child says, "Again." I was singing a Mary Poppins song. It's what I sing to them most nights when I want to sooth them and settle them and put them at ease and get them to hurry up, for the love of God, and go to sleep. Tonight she tells me, "You could have tried out for the part of Mary Poppins." She's seven. She doesn't know Julie Andrews from Dora the Explorer or Adele. But she thinks I'm good and that's all that matters. And I told her that. I said, "As long as you think I could be Mary Poppins, I'm happy." And she said, "You're my Mama Poppins and Daddy is my Daddy Poppins." If you knew what we were going through right now, you would know that was pretty special, pretty significant.

Right now, in this part of my life, I am working hard to focus on what is good in my life. It was actually an assignment given to me this week. And my children continuously remind me of how much I have that is good. Every time your children ask you to do something again, you can know that you did something great. You did something that makes someone so happy they need you to do it again and are not afraid to request it. You win. All we want, by we, I mean parents, is to help these little people be the best people they can be, and along the way, not hate us, preferably like us... a lot. And when they say, "Again, Mommy," I know I'm on the way.

You Know You're a Stalker When...

Ok. First of all, the word "stalker" has such negative connotations. And up 'till now, I would have been one to suggest that stalking was absolutely not ok. But now I may be slightly on the other side of the fence. I wouldn't say I was for it, but I would say I was sympathetic. Let's just say I've found myself in a category that may be able to sympathize with the everyday, run-of-the-mill, not pathologic stalker. So, here it goes, YOU KNOW YOU'RE A STALKER WHEN...

1. You google the name of a boyfriend from more than 20 years ago.
2. You consider paying money for the "finder fee" to gather more information on the boyfriend from 20 years ago when you find him on a google search.
3. You're really pissed when, even though you're philosophically opposed to the whole idea of facebook, you're ex is apparently too good for the rest of the world to even consider having a facebook account. Shit, now I can't even check in on him. 
4. You're friends with your ex-boyfriend's (like 20 years ago from high school) mom, I mean it was a small town, so why not try to send her a Christmas card and maybe she'll start sending one back and maybe she'll tell him how fantastic you are. Seems reasonable.
5. You have the number for said ex-boyfriend, who by the way, has never, not once, contacted you in the 20 years since high school, so you're really not life-long friends, and you call it on New Year's Eve and leave a long message about how lame it is that he's never even made an attempt to keep in touch and what a snob he is, only to find out later that he was in fact possibly proposing to his future fiance that same night. Nice, classy!
6. You randomly head to your ex from high school's town with your own children and happen to arrange a couple of visits to his new businesses in said town. You may even make your children do any necessary inquiries about the whereabouts of said ex-boyfriend so as not to draw attention to yourself.
7. When paying a visit to the business of ex-boyfriend in the town that you're randomly visiting, you pay cash for your hot chocolate so that your name won't show up on some random credit card receipt that someone somewhere might look at... in the investigation?
8. You have to tell yourself to stop thinking about the ex-boyfriend and to promise not to do anything stupid like contacting his mother or sister to get his number.
9. You through out the number of the ex-boyfriend to prevent yourself from further humiliation only to regret not having the number later when you would like to further humiliate yourself.
10. You find yourself defending other stalkers because really, it's not their faults.