The Big kids are keeping me ridiculously busy. I've turned into one of those obnoxious blogger moms, who's children are in a million activities, while I adorably wear a seasonal apron I have sewn myself, in between trips to milk the goat..
Tink's evenings are busy with: Piano lessons, Hip hop class, CCD and Children's Yoga. For a couple evenings, she was able to fit in a cheer leading camp and performance at the Varsity Football game. And that experience, taught me this:
I'm completely unprepared to be a cheerleader's mother. It's against every fiber of my being.
I had to lame text other mothers to ask: shorts, skirt or leggings?? How early is too early to drop off?
Inner debates: make-up?? How much lip stick? Isn't there something about wearing more stage make-up to see in crowds? Is football cheer leading hair big? Ponytail?? Pigtails are probably out... I just DON'T KNOW THESE THINGS!! I'm out of my element!!
And then crazy stuff starts to happen to me... I'm cheering FOR a cheerleader.. I'm getting excited for how hard she snaps her arms. I love her tiny fists on her hips. I'm annoyed they didn't teach her MORE cheers in the short 3 hour workshop. I'm suddenly addicted to MORE cheering!
I can't believe she takes that huge football field, without a trace of hesitation. She's got so much guts in that little body.
And the Biggest Kid?
In his first year of Junior High school baseball, The Kid slowly became a little star. And my nerves can not handle it.
It's sorta his thing. His dad will stand up behind me, spreading his arms wider and wider, urging The Kid to take a bigger lead. Then I yank Coach into his chair, because the super wide lead makes my belly hurt.
The Kid's smile after stealing Second, then stealing Third and then finally stealing Home, looks like this:
But the real test to my nerves?? The Kid is becoming a pitcher. And a pretty darned good one.
(PS- I'm only allowed to snap pics while he warms up, otherwise it may spook him...)
After each inning concludes, I am suddenly stricken with a throbbing headache, from holding my breath during the entire duration of each batter. I'm a wreck. He makes me want to drink.
She doesn't dig, the big kids draining all the attention.
As you can imagine.