Sep 11, 2012

Bad Mom

I got the "Bad Mom" look at gymnastics last night. You know the look i'm talking about--the one where the other mom looks at you, arranges a slightly upturned smile to her mouth to hide the obvious disdain, then gives you a quick look and turns away.

It was one of those rare nights where i'm at gymnastics from beginning to end (430-730). I rarely stay the entire time because...well, let's be honest here, I have other stuff that needs to happen. It's called 'LIFE.' Even when I'm NOT at gym, we're so busy that when Friday rolls around, SMM and I have to reintroduce ourselves to each other:

"Hi, I'm Stephanie, your wife."
"Ahhh, yes. I remember you fondly. Shall we have a drink?"

EVERY FRIDAY.

I'd like to explain that we're not crazy parents that overschedule our kids. Jenna cheers and takes piano, and Clairey takes gymnastics. For 12 hours a week. Those 12 hours are not forced upon her. The kid LOVES the gym. And, i kid you not, when she's NOT at gym, she's still doing gymnastics. In our house. (Where she is often yelled at for doing gymnastics.)

So, back to the story at hand.

The mom was at the gym for the first time. (Any 'gym moms' that are reading this now absolutely and completely understand this story--even though I haven't really told it--and are nodding their heads.) Her daughter has never taken gymnastics before, and according to the mom, is a natural. Her little one (9 years old) had fallen victim to this year's Olympics, and has been begging to take gymnastics. So, her parents obliged. I chit-chatted with this new-to-the-gym mom and watched her child and oo'd and aahh'd right along with her. THEN...she asked, "How old is your little girl?"

"9--in fact, today's her birthday.." I answered.
"Where is she?"
"She's back there...on the floor...she's the one with the really short hair and navy leo."
"Oh...you guys were already here when we got here..."
"Yeah, we go from 430-730."
"Wow...that's a long practice."
"Yes...we're here four times a week."
"WOW."
[SILENCE]

The silence always indicates that the mom wants to say something, but is trying to figure out a 'nice' way to say it.

"That's a lot for a little kid."
"It is, but she's been in gymnastics since she was 2. She begs to be here. She loves it."

And, it's always here, right at this moment, that i feel the need to elaborate. Because i very much realize that that sounds like an excuse. Like i'm one of those crazy-ass 'Toddlers in Tiaras' mothers who is forcing her kid to do something she doesn't want to. So I offer, "I'm not kidding. She really DOES love it. She wants MORE hours, and would live here if I let her."

ENTER: Look of disdain and 'bad mom' look.

One part of me wants to keep going with the explanation, but i don't. It's extremely hard to explain to people that your 9-year old has a better work ethic than most adults you know. It's hard to explain that even when she's NOT at gym, she's on her bar or beam trying to perfect her routines, or simply "conditioning." It's hard to explain to anyone BUT another team mom/dad. And I think that's why we have such an awesome comraderie. Because we KNOW how driven these kids are. We KNOW how they love being at the gym. And we know that even if we tied them down, they'd find a way to do gymnastics.

I know i'm not a bad mom. Maybe 'new gym mom' thinks I am. But I know i'm not. And my 9-year old thinks i'm the BEST mom--because i let her do gymnastics all. the. time.

Sep 10, 2012

The Munch is 9!

Oh, Munch...I can't believe you're 9 today. It seems to me that you should still be 4. Maybe 5 at the oldest. This morning, you requested breakfast in bed. "What would you like?" I asked. "Oatmeal, toast, and coffee," you replied. Easy. You had breakfast in your beautiful princess room on a pink, leopard-print tray. And you were ecstatic about it.


We measured you this morning, and it appears that you have grown nearly 2 inches since April. Indeed, Wee One, it appears that you hit a growth spurt. It's just that everyone around you hit one, too. Like "Poquito Tito--The Smallest of the Small Ones" in Skippy John Jones, you are, indeed, small. But you are fiesty. And so full of character. If height went by personality, you'd be at least 10 feet tall. Your personality is so fabulous. It shines out of you like the brightest star you can ever imagine. You are absolutely blessed, kid. There's not a person who doesn't just want to eat you all up. Your happiness is contagious and once you're in the room, there's not a single cure for it. You make the world smile.



Speaking of smiling...at your most recent gymnastics meet, you decided that you were going to smile through your floor routine. You had everyone laughing. Coach Briana was laughing so hard, she was wiping tears from her eyes. I asked you, "Why were you smiling like that?" You said, "Because gymnastics makes me happy." We know it does because you NEVER stop doing it. You are constantly on your bar or beam. As soon as you finish your school day, you're on that beam. I walk into the workout room, and you're doing pike holds on your bar.

"WHY are you doing that?" 
"Because Olympic Champions always condition and never complain."

Touché, my girl.
I hope you know how happy you make me; how blessed I feel to be your mom. How LUCKY I know I am to have you in my life. You try my patience some days, but you are such a good kid. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I am so grateful that you're mine. It doesn't even touch the surface when I say that 'you are special.' You're so much more than that. You are pure joy. PURE JOY. I love every single freckle on your face, every tiny little hair on your head. And you, my Munch, will always and forever be my baby.

I love you all the stars,
Mommy