My Daughter's a Cheerleader...and I'm OK With It.

Apparently, your children can change you.

My lifelong dislike of cheerleaders was founded on an intense envy of their Barbie-like attributes, followed by an assumption that all cheerleaders were like the stereotypical ditzes on TV, and topped off with a self-comforting superiority complex that I was "beyond" cheering for the go-getters... I was the go-getter. But my disdain ended tonight, a direct result of The Sparkle Effect.

We are now beginning our second year at the Huge Suburban School. Last year, a HSS cheerleader heard about The Sparkle Effect, and decided to start a Sparkle cheerleading squad at HSS. Diva Moms who participated last year told me about it, and since all the other girls were doing it I figured my Diva should be too. Husband has been taking her to practices periodically, and other than doing her hair for pictures, I have had little to no involvement.

Tonight was the first night of cheering. I had not been to a high school football game since the Gopher was in ninth grade football, and I didn't know what to expect. For one, HSS enrolls about 3,000 students (9-12), compared to Rural City School's 800 students (7-12). I imagined it would be more like a college football game than any high school game I had ever been to. As I did Diva's hair, I reminded her that this was Not the time to be telling me how much she loves me, or blowing me kisses. I was a little nervous that the attention of hundreds of people, combined with the bright lights, might intoxicate her to the point of uncontrollable silliness, and I'd have to drag her off the "stage," never to be seen or heard from again...

As usual, we were running a bit late. Husband dropped us off at the gate, we meandered in, and I - having no idea how to get Daughter onto the track - simply began walking towards it. There were literally hundreds of people. I reached the bottom of the track, only to discover that Daughter needed to be on the opposite side. The gatekeeper had pity on us, and allowed Daughter and I to walk along the track instead of having us walk back up the hill and into the stands. I was somewhat unnerved with the thought of everyone watching me walk along the track. While I was slinking closer and closer to the edge, Daughter was practically skipping with excitement. At one point she even said, "Look! My fans!" (To which I hissed in exasperation, "Those are not your fans!")

Daughter actually asked to run towards the cheerleaders - for the first time EVER, I was going too slow for her! So off she went, yelling her friend's names, jumping and squealing and laughing. I eventually finished my Parental Walk of Shame, and found a seat in the stands with Husband. And as I looked down from my seat in the bleachers, I realized what a beautiful gift the Sparklers had given to Daughter.

There was Daughter, hanging out with fellow Divas and her mainstream peers, giggling and doing cheers and taking pictures. I was looking at the American Dream - the sun setting behind the football field, the marching band in the stands, the student section decked out in spirit gear and the athletes playing their hearts out - and my Diva was a part of it. I had nothing to fear - Daughter was quite the high school senior, and although we exchanged special smiles throughout the evening, she was careful to conduct herself like her fellow cheerleaders. The Sparklers cheered with their student coaches/buddies, did some pyramids, and after the game each Sparkler received a gift bag from her Buddy.

I have few complaints of peers who were truly mean to Diva. In the same vein, I have equally few stories of peers who were true friends to her. I don't begrudge the rarity, because before being Diva's Mom, I wasn't going out of my way to befriend the Divas of the world. But now that I'm on the other side, I can tell you that I will never forget those kids who took time to be friends with Diva - the pair of Rural City boys (one even let her wear his football jersey for Homecoming), the girls who came to Diva's twelfth birthday party, and now the darling cheerleader who is her cheer buddy.

So you see, maybe those cheerleaders aren't so bad afterall.

Nice try, Mom...Nice try

Today was senior picture day. I was my usual OCD-self, trying to control everything. For example, I drafted a three-page schedule, complete with illustrations and an explanation of the type of outfit, possible accessories, and suggested backdrops. My goal was simply for my Diva to have perfect senior pictures, and I had been planning, listing, charting, stressing, and yes, even yelling about this for the past month.

Perhaps I was my OCD-self on crack.

Although Daughter woke up with a huge zit on her chin (which I discovered as the song, "This is the stuff" is playing on the radio...google it and listen, you'll get the irony), I was somehow able to refrain from attacking her with acne medication and foundation because 1) I'm Asian, and she has the fairest skin ever, and 2) the miracle of PhotoShop. We got through church, stopped at Mastercuts to have a professional blow out her hair (best money I ever spent), and took a lunch breather where my Diva initiated a toast to her "senior year pictures."

The next 4.5 hours were exhausting. Granted, it wasn't all about the Diva. Husband is launching a new handyman business, Twin Cities Home Repair, so we took a few pictures for that purpose. The Gopher came home, so we spent considerable time taking family portraits. And for the first time ever, I'm thinking about the Christmas card ahead of time, so we took a picture for that. But, much of the day was spent behind the photographer waving my hands saying, "Look here!", in front of the Photo Diva fixing her hair, or cajoling her into a natural smile with songs, questions, and general hysteria. Tears were shed about three-quarters of the way through ("the tiara incident"), and the threats kicked in towards the final stretch ("the tree standoff"). At the end, I heard some frazzled, haggered woman offer Daughter the restaurant of her choice if she would just take a few more pictures - I, the woman who claimed she would never resort to bribery, who would never negotiate with terrorists, was broken.

But we made it. Our photographer and her assistant patiently worked with the crazy that is our family. We went out to dinner, enjoyed complimentary desserts (complimentary because I pretty much begged for a glass of wine, but I forgot my ID, so the server brought us a dessert tray on the house instead...complimentary dark chocolate mousse definitely has its own calming effect...

This evening, I brushed my teeth as the Diva was putting lotion on. I rinsed off the toothbrush and said with a sly smile, "Pictures tomorrow!"

Daughter looked uncertain. She tried to be agreeable, and nodded her head.

Not to be deterred, I tried again. "Tomorrow we'll go in, get your hair cut, then take more pictures."

Daughter, who hates hair cuts, gave me a look. "Hair-cut?"

I smiled extra big, and prodded, "Tomorrow pictures, Wednesday pictures, Thursday pictures, Friday pictures, Saturday pictures, Sunday pictures twice..."

Daughter stared in horror.

"And," I said, "No school. Just pictures."

And then Daughter knew this was just ridiculousness. She burst into a smile from ear to ear, and yelled, "Nice try Mom! Nice try!"

We laughed. Daughter and I have never had this type of interaction before, where she laughs at herself because of a friendly mom prank. I have never heard her say the phrase, "Nice try," and it was music to my ears as I walked out of the bathroom and I heard her mumble over and over to herself, "Nice try mom. Nice try."