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Friday, April 22, 2011

The Art of Fidgetetry

My sweet pre-schooler is a fidget. She has kicked the back of the seat in front of her in the car so many times that there are little divots where her feet have rubbed in permanent scars.

She loathes when her socks get twisted around; she will huff audibly, stop whatever she is doing to and bend down to fix them. Unfortunately this sounds all too familiar; I am a world-class fidget. Have been for about 40 years and I am now accustomed to it.

Mostly.

It can be really annoying to others around me; remember that kid in high school who bounced her leg so intensely that the whole table did the jitterbug right along with it? That’s me. Or the person in the seat behind you in the airplane who constantly crosses and uncrosses her legs, hitting your seat each and every time she does it? C’est moi.

You can, perhaps, take comfort in the fact that it is frequently annoying to me as well. When I go to bed at night and Don has found his perfect slumber position after 2.3 seconds, I am only on fidget round number -1. As in negative one, as in there is pre-fidgeting before the real fidgeting starts. Pre-fidgeting happens while I read and it’s not too bad since I am distracted by what I am reading. Once I am finished reading and the pre-fidgeting round has commenced then the real deal begins. First I have to adjust my pillow and in doing so my left sleeve slides up so I fix that, but as I readjust the sleeve my left pant leg creeps up and I have to fix that using the right foot so that the right pant leg creeps up and I use my left hand to fix the pant leg and then the left sleeve slides up and, well, you get the point. At some point I just get tired and fall asleep. Sometimes mid-fidget. As in I am holding the end of my sleeve in my balled up hand when I awaken. I am the Master Fidgeter, or “Meister Zappelphillip” in German.

Even our dog Sophie has decided it’s better to sleep on the floor than the super-soft, king-sized bed since she cannot take the fidgeting. Yes, dogs can scowl. And scoff. Even at adorable pre-schoolers who kick their feet under the table where the dog is trying to rest. Such is life with a family of fidgeters.

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