quick hits (literally): closed fist or flat-hand slap?

first, let me just say that everyone should check out aim's bear cake pics i posted down below... very impressive.

second, i need to confess to a little mishap i had the other day. i need to preface my remarks here by saying that this happened on a sunday morning, a fast sunday no less, and this particular sunday being the sunday just before finals week (plus i don't think i got much sleep the night before). also, most of you that know me, know that i am a pretty tranquil guy... so, don't let this change your opinion of me.

besides, had i listened to my good friend johnny miller, none of this would have ever happened. you see, johnny once gave me some valuable advice after i had informed him that i had broken a metacarpal in my fist after punching one of those padded wall mat things in church gyms behind basketball hoops (this particular one wasn't much of a pad at all, more like a piece of plastic). johnny said, "jur, you flathand slap those things, don't try and punch them, fool" (ok, he didn't actually say 'fool', but that sounds better to me). he's right. had i flathanded that mat, i wouldn't have broken my hand and i probably would have made my point even more emphatically than i did with my fist because slapping the mat is louder than punching it and i just wanted everyone playing to know that i knew and was frustrated over having taken a bad shot (i had to act frustrated so these guys would know that that kind of shot selection, and actually missing a shot, is atypical for me... at least that's what i wanted them to think because these guys were cool jocks that had gone to high school with aimee and they needed to know that she married a world class athlete/basketball mastermind who only passed on the nba because he knew it would be hard on his family life... and who wouldn't come to such a conclusion after seeing someone punch a brick wall after missing a shot? it's perfectly logical). so, i punched, heard a pop, and my hand turned into a balloon. funny thing is, i started shooting better after that.

anyway, as usual: i digress. back to my original confession: i kicked a hole in the wall that cursed sunday morning. before you all judge me, i invite you... no, DARE you... to come spend a sabbath morning in our humble abode. word on the street is that the producers of survivor are looking at shooting next season of the show upstairs at our house on a sunday morning. sounds like it won't fly because it is too much for network tv. in short, i will just say that i would rather try to castrate a porcupine most sunday mornings than get our kids ready for church. that's how bad it can be.

most sundays i feel like as soon as i get up, a bell rings and i am suddenly engaged in a no-holds-barred cage-fighting match from sun up until sun down featuring aim and i in one corner of the ring and the terrible three in the other... and let me tell you, they kick our trash week in and week out. yet, we keep coming back for more. are we sadists? masochists? gluttons for punishments? who knows (mostly i don't know because i can never remember the difference between sadists and masochists... i am pretty sure we are one, but i am just not sure which one). all i know is that on the particular sunday at issue here, i had had enough: i was going to fight the three strongest boys in the village, perhaps the world, that morning and i was going to prevail. if i'd had some stretchy pants and a mask i would have thrown them on because it was go time, no more mr. nice guy.

as such, i psyched myself up to some MoTab "consider the lillies" and headed up the stairs ready for hand-to-hand combat. jameson was in his room working on his signature move - "ignoring us" - as evidenced by his flat out ignoring me when i asked him to start getting ready. and that was when it happened: something inside me said "no more." i needed to respond with authority. i needed to re-establish who wore the stretchy pants in this family and so i thought: what can i do to catch his attention? for a minute i considered flathanding the wall, for flathanding would carry out the intended "shock and awe" effect while inflicting minimal damage to our property and my person. yet somehow that made too much sense at the time. instead, i thought i would try something new: why not kick the wall? yes, they have not seen wall-kick before and if i executed it just right, it would still make a sudden loud slapping noise, not hurt too bad, and not damage the wall. but, as you can see, this new move was more risky than a flathand slap as it required a higher degree of skill than the slap. no matter, i was determined to be a cutting edge disciplinarian in this moment and so i kicked. sorry, johnny, i have failed you yet again. but, whatever...

it felt good at first: i could tell i had not broken any bones, jameson looked up startled and started moving at a quickened pace, but as i slowly looked down, i noticed i had not carried out what i'd hoped would become my signature move... alas, there was a hole in the wall. i glared down half-impressed and half-frustrated at first: impressed because i couldn't believe that i could so easily kick a hole in the wall no matter how strong i thought i was; frustrated because now not only did i have kids to get ready for church and finals to worry about, but a new hole in the wall to fix. unfortunately, this is what happens when one reacts first without thinking rationally. yes, i am somewhat embarrassed by my actions and i hope they serve as a future reminder to think first and then kick the wall. at any rate, it only took all of church and a few hours before jameson was back to pulling off his signature move again along with his brothers without fear of having the wall kicked- in again.

oh well... all's well that ends well, i guess. besides, i learned my lesson: it really isn't all that hard to patch up holes in your drywall (it's amazing what you can learn on the internet these days).

check out the before and after pics (i still haven't painted)