Dear Kid,

Most of my friends are a little crazy. Generally they are crazy in a good sort of way, so we have reciprocal wackiness.

You know, just a little on the What? side of things.

But every now and then, one of them will cross over into true Have You Lost Your Mind?

One of my friends went to Are You Insane Land this weekend.

A while ago, she tried to get me to participate in a 5K with her. Since I was pretty sure the “K” didn’t stand for kayaking or knitting, I decided to pass lest the K stand for “killing me, here.”

Yesterday, this same friend sent me the following message—on my beloved Fitbit: “Contemplating Half Pig on May 1. Interested in the challenge?”

To be clear, she did not mean eating half a pig, but rather participating in the Flying Pig Half Marathon which is like a marathon only the ambulances are closer to the starting line.

Of course I was interested. Interested in how she thought that someone who walks about 5 miles (total) on a REALLY active day might be able to perambulate that far. All at once. Without falling so far behind that the race ended days before I get to the finish line.

My response to her—not on my beloved Fitbit since I don’t want to offend it: “When did they start allowing bicycles in the Pig?”

So far no response. But to be fair, I only sent the message a few minutes from now. (Yes, you read that correctly.)

I’ll keep you posted.

From the comfort of my 10,000 steps per day goal.

Love, Mom

P.S. Who did you share DearKidLoveMom.com with today? Well, what are you waiting for?

Dear Kid,

Have I told you how much I love my Fitbit?

Not only is it purple (win!), and data-ful (win!), and mine (win! win!), it has encouraged me to make some small but important changes in my life.

For example, I now go to either the first or third floor to use the restroom (I work on the 2^nd floor). Not only does this give me all those lovely extra steps (win!), I get an extra flight of stairs (win! win!) each time I have to pee.

Between my bladder (tiny) and my coffee habit (large), this has added an extra 1,000 steps a day to my step count which amounts to (exactly) 11.5 calories.

If I had taken the same amount of time to sit, Jabba-the-Hutt-like, I would only have burned 10.2 calories, so you can see how this is changing my waistline dramatically.

Not only am I bounding (gazelle-like) up the stairs, I’ve taken to walking through this door rather than that door on my way to the restroom. By taking this door, I add 27 steps (win!) and I walk right by the candy bowl (it would be rude not to help myself to a piece [or two] as I walk by).

So by becoming more fit I have gained 6 pounds, worn out three pairs of shoes, and developed a small but insistent blister on my left foot.

You might think I blame my Fitbit. But I don’t. Not at all.

Because it’s purple (win!).

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I’m so proud to be from Cincinnati. And a Cincinnati Bengals fan.

Sigh.

I’m still a fan of the Bengals. But the whole professional behavior thing has to be addressed.

Clearly, the Bengals aren’t the only team demonstrating unacceptable behavior recently. I understand when celebrities and pro athletes say they should be left alone. They just want to do their jobs (act, sing, score touchdowns) without being judged on their off-field/off-screen behavior. Except, um, no. You’re in a profession which puts you in the spotlight, you are a role model whether you originally intended to be or not, and ergo paparazzi. Behave yourself, be boringly normal, and people will leave you alone.

As I said, I understand (even if I don’t agree with) the desire to be left alone outside the work environment.

Recent, er, displays, however, have been on-field. During important games.

Something must be done.

I have put a great deal of thought into the whole professional athlete debacle and I am delighted to announce that I have figured out how to solve the problem.

Pro sports teams need moms.

I am not joking.

When your mom is watching you, you behave better. Assuming you have a good mom who is involved in your life, anyway. And if the team doesn’t have the right mom, I’ve decided the league should provide them.

Consider the Campbell’s Soup commercials with that the football player (I’m sure you know who I’m talking about) and his mom. He loves Mom, he respects Mom, and he has never been involved with the kind of nonsense we’re seeing both on and off the field from other players.

Point proven.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I am now officially a member of the Fitbit world.

Since I am new to Fitbit-ness, I am still trying to figure out how it works.

And I have a LOT of questions.

Like:

How does the Fitbit calculate calories burned when snuggling the Puppy? It can take a lot of energy to absorb all that love. Does Fitbit know that?

Can a Fitbit account for the difference between calories (and by “calories” I mean “chocolate”) eaten in annoyance versus calories eaten for pleasure versus calories eaten for sustenance? Clearly, they are not all the same, but I don’t know if Fitbit is tracking my consumption correctly.

Does my Fitbit measure running on a treadmill, running on the track, and running late at the same rate?

Is there a different formula for walking in sneakers versus walking in 4 inch stilettos? There should be. Especially if the stilettos have scrunchy toes.

How does a Fitbit know if I’m biking? My arms aren’t moving (usually) and my feet are just going round and round. Do I still get credit?

How does the Fitbit measure the impact of the crazy, sadistic physical therapy exercises? (And by “exercises” I mean whatever gadget they choose to use to shove my leg muscles around.) I would assume there is a lot of energy being burned there, what with all the screaming (mine) and yelling (also mine).

What about pushups or leg curls? How do I tell my Fitbit to count that kind of exercise?

Or gum chewing? How does the Fitbit account for the incredible number of calories I burn chomping on Trident?

And thinking. Thinking burns a lot of, well, a lot of something. For instance, how does the Fitbit tell the difference between sitting and watching bad reality TV (no effort) and sitting and contemplating bad reality TV (a great deal of effort)?

These are important questions. I hope someone has correspondingly important answers.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Turns out yesterday really was a Monday. I know this because the calendar said so. Also because I spilled my coffee (twice). And because the Bengals lost.

Before you jump to “But the Bungles are supposed to lose. That’s what they do!” let me remind you that this year they had forgotten they were supposed to lose and were 8-0. Branching out. Trying new things. It was beautiful to behold.

Except for last night.

I take full responsibility. Not only did I spill my coffee (twice) [I really should have been more careful before a Monday night game], but I fell asleep. Zonked during the fourth quarter when I clearly should have been paying attention.

Woke up to the horrible news that if only I’d spilled a little more coffee into me and a little less everywhere else, I might have stayed awake long enough to ensure victory.

I thought Marvin and the team had it under control. I let them down. I let fans down. I let my eyelids down. And I really am sorry.

But we’re still 8-1 which is pretty dang awesome and I’ll do my best to lead the team to victory (from the couch) going forward.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Did you watch football this weekend?

I assume not. I assume you were single-mindedly focused on studying. (Please do not do anything to disillusion me.)

Allow me to summarize.

It was a hot mess. (I refer specifically to the Oakland/Pittsburg event. Calling it a “game” seems to stretch the imagination.)

Which got me thinking about the days of the one-platoon system when players played both offense and defense.

When the two-platoon format (that we use today) was first introduced, Tennessee head coach “General” Robert Neyland called it “chickenshit football“. I think he may have had a point.

There are a lots of arguments both for and against the current two-platoon system. You can see a bunch of them here. Most of them are more objective than “chickenshit football”.

But really, I can’t think of another sport where players specialize in either off- or def- and don’t bother learning the other side of the game.

So I think we should go back to the origins of the game. When men were men* and mud was mud and the only people who specialized were QBs and kickers. As it should be.

Love, Mom

*Just so we’re clear, that wasn’t a sexist remark. There just weren’t any women in the game [or the mud] then.

Although I’m not clear about the gender of the mud.