Little Girls in Pretty Boxes

I had another crazy mama encounter yesterday on this fun journey of parenthood, and I wanted to share it with you all. 

Every Monday, I take MK to gymnastics class. This fall, we enrolled her at The Little Gym for the school year's entire season. She was originally enrolled in the regular 3-4 year old, "Funny Bugs," class, but after a couple weeks, her instructor asked me if we'd like to move her to the smaller, "invite-only" advanced class. Her instructor felt she was strong enough to join two other little girls (4 and 5 years old) and would benefit from a smaller group. After internally leaping for proud-mama joy a long thought out process, I decided to let her give the advanced class a shot. 

Fast forward to yesterday. We've been in that class for a couple months now, and MK is doing great. There are only three of them enrolled in it and the girls get a lot of special attention and are learning at a quicker pace. At least I'm assuming it is quicker than they would have in the larger class she was in before. The other mom and I get along great and we both enjoy cheering each others kids on. It's a fun and relaxing environment and the kids have an absolute blast. MK is even heading to one of the girl's birthday parties at the end of next month.

Okay, so let me back up and share a little background with you about myself, just in case you didn't already know. This is going to sound like a blast from my personal "Look-At-Me" horn, but hang with me for a second... I'll get to my point eventually.

Gymnastics, cheerleading, and dance has only shaped my ENTIRE life. I started at a young age and from then on, it dictated who my friends were, how my personality evolved.... I was able tostalk meet my husband because of it, I moved across the country to work full time in the industry.... Blah, blah, blah.... You get the idea. I wouldn't be where and who I am today without it. So try to keep that in the back of your mind for in a minute... Now, back to the story at hand...  

Insert a new kiddo and her mama into the class. Correction: Insert a new kiddo and her stage mama into the class. A new little girl joined yesterday and I had little patience the pleasure of chatting with her mama, trying to get to know her and her daughter better. This is literally how the start of our convo went.

New Mama: The gymnastics coach invited her to join this advanced class, so we thought we'd give it a shot. (Glances at MK) This is the advanced class, right? 

Me: Yep, it is! And that's awesome. I think you'll like it. The kids have a blast! 

New Mama: How old is your daughter? She looks so little for this class. 

Me *bristling*: She's almost 3 and a half. She's definitely the youngest one.(Chuckles) And you'll be able to tell, but she enjoys it. 

New Mama: My daughter is 5 years old. So wait, does your daughter have her cartwheel yet? 

Me *fully bristled*: Well... no... not yet... But she is trying. She sort of just hops her hips over.(smiling sweetly) I'm assuming your's does? 

New Mama: Yeah. Actually, just yesterday she called me to watch her and she decided to throw a cartwheel with no hands. Which is called an aerial. 

(A slight pause should be taken here for the dramatic effect of these statements to fully sink in. Also, feel free to say, "Really, lady?" to yourself, at this point in time.)

Me *begrudgingly ignores the gym lingo educational comment*: Wow! Thats great!! She's super cute too. She definitely looks like she's built to be a gymnast... Her little legs are so muscular. New Mama: Well, I think so too. I was a gymnast and cheerleader once, so it only makes sense.

Alright. Time to pause...

So remember where I said, this type of activity has shaped my whole life? So basically.... If anyone deserves to be the "stage mom" here, I'm going to not so humbly state that it's me. And for the record, I am NOT one who likes to be upstaged. Up until this point in MK's minuscule gymnastics career, I had not uttered a word to anyone in that gym about my own personal experience and skills. Before I go on, let me say that I am by NO MEANS saying I was the most amazing gymnast/cheerleader/dancer out there. Far from it. But literally, I made a living from the damn things and put food on the table for my family.... So I may feel my skills were good enough to be just a little bit proud of. 

1997/1998 SGA Competitive Team

With my Tennessee cheer staff at our Training Week Awards Night, 2011

But something I definitely AM proud of is the fact that I have NOT jumped in letting it be known I was literally coached by a World Championship elite gymnast at one time in my life and that I used to coach competitive gymnastics myself. And I haven't once tried to tell MK's coach how to coach... Even though I probably could have and have wanted to a couple times.And you want to know why?? Because let's face it... This is The LITTLE Gym. (Warning: Double negatives ahead! I feel this grammatical sin is necessary to "hear" my southern accent that tends to come out more when fired up.) .... This ain't no Bela Karolyi Olympic training camp out on a sweltering Texas ranch where we wrap our little girls in pretty boxes trying to impress USA Gymnastics to get our kid on the national team.(If you're at all into gymnastics or figure skating, and caught the book/movie reference there, but haven't seen or read it... I highly recommend getting a copy!) This place is exactly what it's called. The Little Gym. A fun, small, and loving place where my baby girl, who is still only THREE YEARS OLD, can discover, play, and grow in a structured and FUN environment without any stress. With or WITHOUT a cartwheel... 

BUT... with all that being said, let's remember that I am naturally a highly, uber, monstrously, slightly competitive person. So the internal need to share my own story with this mama definitely came to a near breaking point. #BeingCompetitiveSucks. However, I refrained after sneaking in a short comment how I used to be a gymnast and cheerleader, as well. So one more little addition to this story, to just get the full effect...

New Mama has her other child, a son probably about 10 years old, unwillingly sitting next to her, watching his prodigal sister run a muck with my cartwheel-less MK work towards Olympic glory inside the gym walls.

Suddenly, as her daughter not-so-gracefully catapults herself gracefully leaps of the beam, New Mama throws up her arms in the sharpest and fastest "touchdown" motion I've ever seen. Picture fingers and hands creating the meanest karate chop motion you've ever seen straight up in the air.

Brother *rolls his eyes*: Whyyyyyy are you signaling to her? 

New Mama: To remind her to stay exactly like a pencil when she dismounts, in order to stick the landing. Then the arms up signal that her skill is finished. It like the period on the end of a sentence. Showing she's done. The judges need to see that.

Y'all, I can't even stand it! I'm literally dying all over again as I type this, so I'm going to end there. However, you can imagine how the rest of the Olympic training practice went. I am all about encouraging our kids to do their best and join competitive sports if they're so inclined, and more often than I'd like to publicly admit, I have to restrain my inner-stage-mama from getting out of control.... but let's get real... IT'S THE LITTLE GYM!!

So there it is. I am now accepting all well-wishes and prayers for both my sanity and patience throughout the duration of this gym season.

(And for the record: by the time this posted... MK got her cartwheel. Boom.)