When I am talking with someone, I never know what to do with my arms. Should I cross them? No, that looks too closed off and serious. Should I let them dangle? Too stiff looking. Put my hands on my hips and let my elbows jut out? Too, hey look at me-ish. See what I mean, how is a person to stand and talk to someone without calling unnecessary attention to their inherent awkwardness? And that is my real issue. I love people (usually), but I am so over aware of myself that I have trouble relaxing in new conversational situations.

The lure of writing is that I can speak without having to be looked at. I don’t have to worry about broccoli bits in my teeth, an itchy nose that begs to be blown right in the middle of talking to someone, or flapping arms with nowhere to land.

Being the family/friend photographer is even better. You can snap away and never have to worry if you winked one eye closed in the middle of a snap, or if your smile looks like you are minutes from heaving. I only love a good selfie if I’m wearing a hat, sunglasses and trying to get the scenery from hiking behind me. No ducklips and close-ups for me.

I want people to chuckle at my sarcastic comments, admire my amazingly comfortable Hoka hiking shoes, and maybe even notice my grandbaby-toting induced biceps that have recently formed. But there is no need for you to look deeply into my eyes unless you are an optometrist performing the dreaded glaucoma eye exam.

Why?

Because I don’t flow like a river stream. I don’t glide like a boat on water. I trip over my own ankles. I’ve been known to occasionally gleek while speaking. I’m an accident waiting to happen. I’m the 105-pound girl who walks as stealthily as a hippopotamus. My husband used to beg me to tiptoe when the kids were sleeping. He claimed my footsteps shook the entire floor.

“Hey, Trouble (my son),” I said the other day. “I outdid myself today. In the middle of my new client meeting, I realized that not only were my arms crossed, but I had crossed one leg over the other and had stood that way for over five minutes.”

When he was done laughing at the picture of his live pretzel standing mom, I realized my purpose in the family. Not only do I make them laugh – at me, but I also make them feel better about themselves. Because really, when compared to their arms akimbo mother, they are swans, ballerinas…or just normal people who know what the heck to do with limbs.