Key Issues

Can We Do This Telepathically?

Can't I just blog in my head? I know. My page is dusty. I have written DOZENS of posts in my head, but when I visited my page today, they weren't there.

Damn.

No back up copy either. No clue what I was gonna say. Maybe I need a Gingko biloba cocktail with a dash of grape seed extract, topped with a bit of horny goat weed just for fun.

What's kept me so busy? Well...

While I was attending the aforementioned meet at Mr. Wiggle's place, Miss Priss was spending some quality time with her cousins, who live north of Marietta. They do these silly, cheer-dance competition thingies, where they go and shake their too-young-to-be-shakin booties and wear too much make-up, and strut their stuff in overpriced uniforms. And, of course, they must practice for hours and hours every week.

Oh, and the price tag for all of this?!

Fogettaboudit.

So anyway, we made it back to Shrek's sis and bro-in-law's house around three. The girls were still out, so we settled in to watch Georgia/Florida on the ten foot TV. Which was good, you know, so that I could really appreciate the smiling blue eyes on Chris Leak as he Pissed all over our defense.

Anyhow, Priss and the girls showed around half-time, and my sweetie girl immediately -as in, no "hello"- announced that I was to go back from whence I came, as she had no desire to see me until the next day. After all, the competition wasn't over until Sunday, and how did I expect her to sleep at night until she knew whether or not her cousins' teams had placed?

So, we waited til she fell asleep and threw her in the back of the Expedition.

After school, the following Monday:

Shrek: Key, did you sign Priss up for basketball?

Key: No.

Shrek: Why not? [Understand peeps, Priss does not have my height, which is a good thing in my humble, but in this case...]

Key: Uh, have you asked her what she wants her winter sport to be? [Although I don't push a particular sport, I insist that she must stay active, lest she become a professional Nickelodeon vegetable.]

Shrek: Uh, no...

Key: [Looking at the child who was only seemingly oblivious to the conversation] Priss, do you want to sign up for basketball or keep doing gymnastics?

Priss: Neither one. I want to do competitive cheer. [Well, I knew that was coming. I wasn't bringing it up though...]

Shrek: NO! NOOOOOOO! No way. Forget it. Never. No child of mine is gonna get up on stage and...

Key: Hon... Uh, this is Mayberry. The competition team here doesn't even show their navels.

He was reasonably pacified, knew basketball wasn't happening, and so the next day Priss and I went to check out this new gym. Little Miss Anal had already conducted playground interviews with all of those in her grade who presently attend or have ever attended the gym in question, and so I had been completely briefed on the pros and cons before even darkening the door.

Once inside, she observed for over an hour, quietly, no doubt making mental notes, and was invited back the following day to practice with the team.

And, while I thought - silly me - that we were checking them out, they were actually checkin' her out. After the practice, I was allowed back to speak to one of the coaches, and Priss was then officially asked to join the team... if I was willing to second mortgage the house and expose my child to entirely too much stress for her age, etc. Shit, I wouldn't have even agreed to the practice, had I known there was the potential for rejection. (Not my nerves. Hers. The kid is already on Prevacid. Next stop: Xanax.)

But she begged. And pleaded. And promised she'd work hard. And clean her room. And not have a tear-flooded nervous break-down in the middle of practice. (That's a biggie for a Pisces with four water signs.)

And while she did look good out there, she's also coming in late in the season, and I never would have suggested this for her.... Not merely because cheerleading is annoying, and it is, but because she has issues. (Yeah, like her Mama, only different.) This is the first time that she has ever BEGGED to be put into a situation that will force her to address her anxiety issues head-on, and I had to appreciate that. And worry over it... Yet mask any doubt. And ask her a thousand times if she was really, really sure, as this is a FIVE month commitment.

I wrote the check last night. Stalled for a week, I did. But she had done the research, and she had made her mind. I can't say she didn't carefully consider it.

And now... I have a kid who is gonna do these silly, cheer-dance competition thingies, where they go and shake their too-young-to-be-shakin booties and wear too much make-up, and strut their stuff in overpriced uniforms. (And, in a round-about way, it's all Eric's fault.)

Heh. Can I get all of that on a bumper sticker?