Naturally, I had to take this newfound ammunition to my Mother. Hopped in my car, set my cruise, turned on my tunes (to which I merrily tapped my little feet), rolled down the window, placed my arm into the wind, tapped my fingers against the steering wheel, and made my way to her house. I wheeled in all excitedly, parked, jumped out of my car, raced up the steps, and whipped out my new trump card. Did it help my cause? No. No, it did not. She looked me dead in my eyeballs and told me that fidgeting was something ladies simply didn't do and that she didn't care what the Mayo Clinic studies indicated.
So, I learned that fidgeting is good for me, my Mama will always carry the one, and I have excellent taste in fidget-worthy music!