We can't be the only parents who spent the weekend looking for ponies to buy.
That's to say, if Alexis had said, "Jump!" we would have eagerly started bouncing up and down as we asked her "Is this high enough? How about now?" We would have charged her a hug or fifty in exchange for doing her bidding, but it would have been a very fair price to pay. The universe shifted on Friday, and for the first time in her short life, Alexis truly was at the center of it all, right along with every other kid on the planet.
Fortunately, she was blissfully unaware of the shift in power.
Until tonight.
I don't remember exactly when I deleted the email, but there was a moment over the weekend when I thought to myself, "Go find it." So I did. I dug through hundreds and hundreds of deleted emails to find The One from her school.
The One about the cheerleading workshop.
For as long as she can remember, Alexis has been all sorts of enthusiastic about the idea of being a cheerleader. I'm about as enthusiastic about it as I am about going to the dentist and having more root canals, so when I saw the registration form for an upcoming cheerleading workshop weeks ago, I hit the delete button so fast my Delete Finger nearly caught on fire.
But then there was Friday and suddenly it seemed like the appropriate thing to do was to serve all the six and seven-year old kids in this world everything their little hearts desire on a silver platter. With whipped cream on top. And a cherry.
So I found the email. I printed out the registration form and then read and re-read the program description. It basically says, "Your kid will have a super duper fun time while you want to rip your hair out because this will be a form of parental torture." Long practices, a ridiculous schedule, and now might be a good time to point out that I'm not kidding when I say I don't like people.
I really don't like people. I especially don't like other people's kids. Or other kids' parents. I don't like anyone.
Yet, I handed that registration form to Alexis and asked her to read it and tell me what I should do with it. As she read each line, I could feel her excitement mounting. She held her breath and held it some more and held it some more and then she squealed with glee. "Momma! Can I be a cheerleader?"
I don't need to tell you that, though. I'm sure you heard her squeals. I hope your ears have recovered a bit by now.
We filled out the form together and a pajama-clad Alexis threw on some slippers so she could run it out to the mailbox Right. That. Second. She spent the rest of the evening grinning from ear to ear as she practiced the few cheers she already knows. Happiness emanated from her every pore as she thought about how excited she was to get to go be a cheerleader for a few hours in a few months.
I can't say that I'm quite as excited that I will get the privilege of playing chauffeur and will be blessed enough to have to spend hours surrounded by humans that will make me crazy. But, you know what? I'm going to do it with a grin on my face.
Because I can.
And sometimes that's enough.
