Mid-CenturyModernMoms

There's no "I" in Mom

I'm a cheer mom.

I admit it freely and proudly.

I plaster it all over my own blog.

Obsessively.

The practice and performance schedule takes over my life during the summer.

And during football season.

And during basketball season.

And during competition season -- which officially started yesterday.

Pretty much all year 'round, I guess.

The way I obsess about it, though, you'd think it was ME on the mats, cheering my little brains out.

But no. It's my daughter, the Roo-girl, who has that honor.

It's her job to cheer, dance, tumble and fly through the air, going for the title of champion.

It's my job to sit in the stands and be proud of her accomplishments.

To cheer for her successes.

To hurt for her misses.

To WILL her to stick her stunts and stay in the air.

Because I'm a cheer mom.

Everyone needs a good cry once in awhile

Most people cry at the movies or when a certain song is played or even over a good book.

Apparently, I cry at football games.

It was the last game of the season. The last time for this school year that I would stand out on the track with my ever-present camera, shooting pictures of the cheer squad for both their website and the end-of-the-year memory dvd.

My daughter is a sophomore. That's 10th grade of 12 in the U.S. educational system (for those readers not on American soil!) .

So no, it wasn't her last game ever. There are two more seasons of Friday night lights in our future.

But for 10 girls I have spent the last 10 weeks photographing, it was the last hoorah.

These are the seniors. The 12th-grade girls. As is our school's tradition, they were honored just before halftime of the game.

Accompanied onto the track by their parents.

Presented with roses.

Wearing tiaras in their hair.

And I cried.

Not just because of how much I have enjoyed these 10 team members, but because I had an instant flash-forward as I photographed each beaming girl and her proud and grinning parents.

What I saw was two years from now ... when it will be Wonderhubby and me walking onto the track, with the Roo-girl between us.

Carrying roses.

With a tiara in her hair.

At her last high school football game.

Slow down, you move too fast. I've got to make the memory last ...

Hey hey, ho ho ... let's get that ball and really go!

Ah, fall.

Well. I mean: Ah, almost fall.

Well. What I REALLY mean is: AHHHHHHH, FOOTBALL!

Yes, it has begun. This was a big weekend for the Planet household.

High school football began. My Roo-girl hit the track as a varsity cheerleader for the first time.

Was it different from cheering at last year's junior varsity games?

"Oh my GAWD yes," she told me later.

But she rocked it. Her pre-game butterflies were gone, and she cheered and danced and flew like a pro.

The stands were packed. Our team won. The Friday night lights were turned off.

And Wonderhubby and I turned our attention to the pros.

We are NFL fanatics, made all the more worse by our obsession with fantasy football.

We plan. We plot. We bond over setting our lineup.

Then Sunday is our day of rest -- with two laptops, the remote control, DirecTV's NFL Sunday Ticket ...

And food.

For opening day of the 2009-10 season, we chose carefully.

Tortilla strips. (But are they big enough to scoop with? There was a huge debate over this.)

Spinach dip. (Yummmmm)

Mango-peach salsa. (Be still, my beating heart!)

Alas, the Roo-girl was satisfied not.

"No guacamole????" she complained. "This is NOT OK!"

Apparently we have failed football food.

Visiting Day

It's been 26 days since I've seen Rosie (not that I'm counting or anything). 

I've actually gotten letters from her that have some content in them (which is a miracle).  I've gotten a few calls from the camp nurse about her (but nothing serious).  And I've read accounts of some of her group's activities on the website and even seen a picture or 2 of her.  But I haven't had a hug or a kiss or a cuddle from her. (I also haven't had to deal with any PMS moods or not wanting to do her chores....)

But now, it's visiting day at camp. 

Rosie has some activities that simply MUST be done every visiting day.  These involve supporting the local businesses.  She has to have lunch at Friendly's (where she will wave to and chat with all of the other camp kids that she sees there) and she has to go shopping at Wal-Mart (see previous comment).

The camp is only 1.5 hours away from home, so it's not too big an excursion, but it hurts my knee to do all of that driving and standing around and more driving all in one day.  So this time I'm staying overnight beforehand at cousins- and then in the morning the cousins will come visit Rosie with me.  She's definitely looking forward to seeing little Ben! (And the stuff that I bring/get her, too!)

There's no crying in cheerleading. Oh, wait. Yes there is ...

Do you have a teenage daughter?

Do you like roller coasters?

Because those things go together like a horse and carriage.

Can I just say ... the Roo-girl is confusing the heck out of me these days. Make no mistake, I love her to death and am enjoying her newly pleasant disposition.

But it is not ever thus, and much of our trauma drama these days is cheer-related.

For those of you who haven't followed along, Miss Roo-teeny is a freshman on a varsity advanced competitive team. They have totally had their ups and downs (heh), but a bad bad week ultimately led to a state championship, so it's all good.

Except you're really only as good as your NEXT competition, so once you win, you can't rest on your laurels, you're back in the gym working.

And work they do ... to the point of exhaustion.

And tears.

Can I tell you how many times my daughter called me from practice with the sound of sobs in her voice?

How many times I picked up this child with wet eyes and mascara-streaked cheeks?

They work those girls HARD, I tell you.

She's not alone, though. I talk to the other moms, the moms of senior girls, and they tell me their daughters come home the same way, and have since their freshman year.

What the ...?

I have tried to find out from Roo what is wrong. Is she hurt? Is she emotionally hurt? Is she just frustrated with herself or is someone ragging on her?

The answer is universally this:

"I. don't. want. to. talk. about. it."

Wait. Please repeat that sentence with sobs in place of the punctuation.

Breaks -- and frustrates -- my mommy heart.

On the other hand, the very next day, I can pick up a young lady with a smile on her face and bounce in her step ... and a jacket with her championship win stitched on the back.

Yeah, if you don't like her mood, wait five minutes and it'll change.

Guess. Just guess.

It's been snowing steadily for more than 48 hours. We have a lot of snow. Like 2 feet of the white stuff. More snow than I've seen in a while.

So yesterday afternoon my son, the one without the coat and the boots, decides he's going sledding at the golf course. Without boots and a coat. I beg him to put on a jacket. But nooooo. He's going to wear his freaking trench coat because he apparently lost his jacket, having never even worn it. It's in the house someplace, but lord only knows where. I've looked, he's looked. It's lost.

So off he goes, and a couple of hours later he comes home, soaked through to the skin. He changes every bit of clothing, down to his boxers, and comes downstairs dressed like a gigantic elf. Totally adorable.

He lays down on the sofa and he's watching TV and then he turns to me and says, "I need a pair of boots." 

NO SHIT SHERLOCK.

This is the kid I begged and pleaded with just a few days ago to buy a pair of boots. Tims. Nice Tims. On sale at Marshalls. But NOOOOOO. He doesn't LIKE boots. They aren't comfortable. Moron.

So, in two feet of snow, he determines that maybe boots might be a decent idea. OMG, I wanted to punch him.

We'll look for boots when we can get out of the driveway. Which should, according to my determination, be sometime in mid-April.

The thrill of victory, the agony of other things

I planned to write a very different post today.

I planned to write all about my daughter's first high school cheer competition.

About the anticipation.

The excitement.

The preparation.

The blood, sweat and tears.

And the elation of getting out on the floor and doing your thing.

Instead, I have a different tale to tell.

One of anticipation. Excitement. Preparation. Blood, sweat and tears.

And abject disappointment.

The team got together at 6:30 Saturday morning for hair and makeup.

They went to school to get the bus at 8:30. Drove 70 miles away (we followed later in the car).

Made up and dressed for success.

And three minutes before leaving the warmup mats, two girls collided and one wracked up her ankle.

They scratched.

Yes, it happens, but let me back up slightly and see if the slant on this moment looks a little different.

Last weekend, one of the girls went skiing. She was asked not to, since they had a competition coming up and the 12-member team had to sign a contract that included a "I won't engage in high-risk activities during competition season" clause.

But she went anyway.

And slipped on the ice and bruised her tailbone. Out for four weeks.

Then there were 11.

By Friday, when it was clear that tailbone girl was truly out, they were frantically rechoreographing the complicated (and VERY hard) routine to eliminate tailbone girl. The coach was pushing them hard and demanded one more run-through.

They had been practicing for more than two hours and had taken time out for a gift exchange and "team building."

"Run it again," he demanded.

"We're tired. We're cold. Our legs are like jelly," they moaned.

He insisted, and they ran it again.

On the last move, one of the girls twisted her ankle.

And then there were 10.

The competition was the next day, which (as I mentioned earlier) began at 6:30 for the girls.

The rechoreographing took place on the warmup mats to edit out sprained-ankle girl.

In a moment of confusion, the two girls collided.

And then there were nine.

We were in the stands, waiting and watching for our girls to enter the arena. When I spotted them, they weren't behind the mats, waiting their turn. They were filing into the spectator seats from the rear of the room.

Huh?

And then we heard the announcement: "(Ourteam) has scratched."

The disappointment from the girls and their parents was palpable.

And the burning desire to blame tailbone girl for recklessly starting this downhill domino disaster was overwhelming.

Especially since this is the only view I had of my girl all day.

 

It's hard to be a grownup.

Bullying doesn't stop when you go to high school

Last night at a school meeting I met another mother of a senior girl. We hit it off immediately, and got to talking. And talking. And talking. By the time we said goodnight we knew each others life story. It was that kind of first meeting. I wish dates went that well.

Anyhow, this woman's daughter started in public school in high school. Before high school she attended a very tony private school that is half day and half boarding school. This school has a sterling reputation amongst the trust fund set and has extremely wealthy and powerful national figures in it's parent population. However, many of the girls that attend this school don't go to very prestigious colleges, choosing more social schools than the woman's daughter was looking for. So they put her in our very 'rigorous' high school where kids go on to many Ivy League and top tier schools.

From the first week at our school, this girl hated it. HATED it. And her mother did as well. The reason is simple. Bullying. Now, in defense of the school, my kids really haven't experienced bullying on either end, and they're not bullies either. But yes, there is bullying going on and I know about it and I know what kids get bullied. This girl, well, she's chubby. More than chubby. She's fat. She has PCOS, a endocrine problem common in women that makes it difficult to impossible to lose weight. As a person who has had PCOS as well, I know how hard this poor kid's struggle is. Losing weight when your body is screaming that you're starving due to blood sugar imbalances sucks.

But other than her weight, this is a very talented, very smart girl. However, from the get-go the teachers treated her like crap because of her weight. This particular girl has a talent that has received kudos from professionals since she was a bitty kid. She sings with professional groups. She's traveled all over the world singing with said professional group. But she couldn't get into the freaking high school chorus. And that was just the beginning. Because the bullying comes not only from other kids, but even more-so from the teachers. On a school trip last year she went overseas to an eastern European country. The teacher who led the trip is one both of my kids has had, and we all concur that he is INSANE. Like certifiably insane. He runs. He doesn't walk, he runs. He made the kids walk from the Airport in Amsterdam to the Anne Frank House. Yes, there is a cheap subway train that goes there, but he made them trot along with him. When this girl couldn't keep up, he said that she was too fat to be on the trip. In a week the kid made $1000 worth of overseas phone calls to her mother in tears. The teacher picked on her the entire trip, thus enticing the kids to do so as well.

This year her "wellness" teacher has turned a blind eye to a kid who bullies her and calls her fat and gross. The teacher has heard it, but shrugs her shoulders and ignores it. Ignoring is so much easier.

The mom is appalled by this behavior but she's also experienced some of the same crapola I have from the "professional moms" who run the PTO and other school programs. You cannot break through the barriers these moms set up. They don't want to meet you, they don't want to hear your issues, they don't want anything to change, etc. Of course their kids are bullies. The moms are bullies as well.

So we have a charged atmosphere where moms, teachers and kids are all allowed to act like asshats and nothing is done to make things better for the kid. Isn't that sad?

When I came home I asked both of my kids if they knew this girl, and both kids did. My son said that she's really nice and is in his g'friend's homeroom and is a friend of hers. My daughter pointed out that she was one of the stars of the play we saw last year and how talented she was. So I know my kids aren't being jerks. They're usually very tolerant of kids with issues anyhow, seeing as they have issues themselves. But I have to say that I am burning mad right now that any kid is being harassed by teachers and students and nothing is done. Not my kid, so it's not up to me. But I felt like burning down the damn school after hearing this story.

Soccer Moms (pitbull, no lipstick)

I spend a lot of hours on the sidelines of soccer fields. My son plays on two teams, one travel and one school. Seven days a week – practice or games, twice on Saturday. Hey, it keeps him out of trouble. And gets me out of my office to get some fresh air.

Every once in awhile we play a team where awful parent behavior rears it's ugly head. In this case the head was a frizzy one on a little pitbull of a mom. She sat on the bottom of the bleachers and taunted the poor ref the entire game. She had a little help from the guy behind her, but she had the big screechy, nails-on-a-blackboard kind of voice that cuts right through you.

Hey Ref, what are you blind? (um lady, could you be more original)

Hey Ref, are you kidding me? You better watch your back when you leave the field! (yeh, right, lady you are 5 feet tall and 105 lbs dripping wet)

Hey Ref, you suck. Get a new job! (again, extremely articulate AND original)

This kind of behavior went on the whole game. And yellow card after yellow card went out to their team. Some of them looked to be a bit excessive. This ref was a little card happy. From where we sat anyway, but after the game my son told me how the other team was trash talking like crazy.

Gee, I wonder where they could have picked up that behavior? It never ceases to amaze me when I see parents act like this at kids sporting events. Mind you, I have seen much worse. It is just that this little rat-faced mom really got on my last nerve. You know the type, when a kid on our team gets injured and the ref doesn't see it instead of yelling 'Man Down' she yells, 'keep playing'.

Bad karma if you ask me.

At the end of the game a father from the other team came up to my husband and asked him if he thought the ref called a fair game. As only Gary can, in his charming way he said, "My friend, there was a woman on your team, and I am hoping she was not your wife, she was a bit out of line. Don't you think she might have pissed that ref off enough to make sure he called every foul on your team?"

Me, not so nice. "Listen, the parents on your team were just damn rude." The guy kind of backed away.

My son? Mortified and pushing us towards the car. "What?",I asked.

His response, "Ugh, who does that?"

"What?", I asked repetitively.

"Who actually answers the crazy parent from the other team?", he said.

"Um, the crazy parent from our team?", I answered.

"EXACTLY! Now let's go home."

The karate kid

All of us Mid-Century Modern Moms have kids we'd like to strangle sometimes.

(Admit it. As much as you love them, you still want to kill them -- frequently. It's part of the empty-nest process. The older they get, the nastier and more difficult they become. That way, you can't WAIT to get them out of your house!!! It's nature's way.)

 

Anyway, we all do our share of bitching and moaning about oh-those-kids.

 

Today I'd like to break the mold.

Today I would like to tell you something good.

Today I would like to tell you about J-bear.

J-bear is 18. She is my stepdaughter, the daughter of my Wonderhubby.

She came to live with us when she was 13, after a traumatic experience with an earthquake at her mom's house. (Yes, the irony being that it was the 10th anniversary of a REEEEEALLY big quake here, though there was no dissuading her from gettin' outta Dodge and moving in with us. NOW.)

I could recount all the ways that J-bear has grown up since arriving here, but you can read that here if you'd like.

Instead I will tell you that last weekend, she made us proud.

She became a black belt in karate.

This is something she has worked toward since about a year after moving in. Z-man started karate at a local studio with his friend, and J-bear thought she might like to try it too.

Try it? Yeah. She loved it.

And while Z-man bailed out of the program as a third-level green belt before leaving last year for college, J-bear has persevered.

And persevered.

And persevered.

And last weekend she earned the right to wear a coveted belt of black.

And to be bowed to by all the lower-ranked students.

And called by the very formal title of Ms. Lastname.

But this is not the end of her journey. Oh, no.

She now begins the road to second-degree black, which will take another two years.

She also -- as part of her acceptance into this exclusive club -- is required to "give back" and so will teach karate at a local parks and rec program.

This is not the same timid little girl who came to live with us and was afraid of a little shake, rattle and roll.

This is a self-assured, disciplined, goal-oriented young woman, who walks tall.

I bow to you, J-bear.