In Defense of Cheerleaders

*steps up on soapbox.  Taps mic.  *ahem* clears throat*  Hello? Yeah, Hi!  Remember me?  I blog here.  You know, when I’m not writing here, or even here (please, go read them.  Wait!  AFTER you read this.  Thanks).

So, I was enjoying my usual Saturday morning ritual of reading blogs and drinking coffee.. alone… when it’s quiet, before my day explodes with responsibilities and plans.  Today? Just me and the kitchen mouse.  Asshole is a sneaky one… avoids traps like nobody’s business.

Anydoodle, now that I’ve set a lovely picture (aside from that pesky mouse.. who is MUTHAFUCKIN loud!) let’s get down to the reason I’m here so damned early on a Saturday morning.  Ok, well, it probably won’t be damned early on a Saturday morning when you read this, but trust me when I say it’s early on a Saturday morning when I’m writing it.  Ok, maybe not early, it’s 7:30.  I’ve already been up for over an hour.  Yes, even when I didn’t have to get up.

Damned but I’m easily distracted and lead astray today.  There is a point to this.  Honest.  Shall we just get to it?

*ahem* Coffee.  Quiet house.  Reading blogs. Yes, that’s where I was… reading blogs.  When I came across this blog post by Amy Grew over at Spread A Little Thin.  Amy is talking about what she would like her children to be when they grow up.  Now, Amy’s children? Still really young, like single digit young.  I’m a mother, I know what it’s like to dream big dreams for our kids.  When I named my girls I picked names that would look good listed as a partner at a law firm, names that flowed nicely when followed by Attorney at Law, or preceded by Doctor of Internal Medicine, or could easily be pronounced by most foreign leaders in negotiations.  Although I have to admit, that? Might have been reaching.  My girls? Don’t negotiate at all.  They take hostages.

But I was aware I was projecting my hopes for a comfortable retirement being taken care of by my ever loving, doting, financially secure children, who would understand and facilitate their mother’s intense desire to be someplace warm and sunny and sandy and filled with umbrella drinks, onto my newborn children. I also knew, that there was a long road between that newborn baby with a law degree worthy name, and the lawyer or doctor or whatever they would be in adulthood.

This? Is so not what I set out to write about.  Maybe I should try and get back on track.

Back to Amy and her dreams for her kids. Nothing wrong with Amy’s dreams. To be clear? I am not in any way attacking Amy or her dreams for her kids.  What I am trying to say is… well, let’s just get to what I’m trying to say….

Amy wrote the following:

I started off by asking each of them what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Grace said she wants to be a cheerleader.
Now, that will not happen… ever (sorry to all you cheerleaders out there). I will not have a kid that is a cheerleader. Its just not going to happen. That’s just how it will be. I am a hard ass, so there will be no deviation from this.
Unless its something that I can’t easily distract her from I guess. IF she REALLY wants to do it, I guess I will relent.

And that just struck me.  (I have voiced my opinion about mothers who voice their set-in-stone plans for their children before) What does she have against cheerleaders?  Why is she already so adamant against her daughter being a cheerleader?  Granted, she’s got several years before that becomes a serious issue in her house, and things can change, but what does she have against cheerleaders? I mean, she is dead on serious (or at least she sounds dead on serious) that her daughter will not become a cheerleader, under any circumstances.

As a mother of a current cheerleader and a future cheerleader, I don’t get it.  Maybe I’m taking it a little too personally, because I sort of feel like.. what does Amy have against…my daughters, who is/will be a cheerleader?

This past week, I took Tate to school to enroll her for her freshman classes.  High school starts in the fall for her.  She was a cheerleader in Jr. High, and loved it, and has decided she wants to try out for high school cheerleading. It is something she enjoys, she has made great friends through cheering, she gets plenty of exercise, she’s in great shape, and her self esteem? Is through the roof.  For her, it was an all positive experience. Once we both hope will continue to be positive all the way through high school.

For high school cheerleading, she has to try out.  She has to attend three days of practice and try out.  Once she makes the squad, then this summer there will be a 3 day camp she has to attend.  High school cheerleading cost significantly more than Jr. High cheerleading does.  When I found this out, I posted a status update on Facebook that said “High School Cheerleading: $150.  Donations now being accepted.”  I put it out there as an off-handed comment, sort of as a joke.  What I got was a heartwarming surprise.

I got several messages from several friends who were cheerleaders or pom-pom girls, or on dance line, or flags, or drill team, or whatever their schools called it, when they were in high school  The friendships, the memories, the bonds that were created from that experience sticks with these women still today as some of the best times in high school.  They offered to make donations (and if you made the offer, please know that until Tate actually tries out and MAKES the team, I’m not going to accept anything.  Once we know for sure she’s made the team and the money is actually needed… then I’ll send out information.  And? My heartfelt appreciation. And Tate’s too!) to help pay for Tate to go to camp and have the same experiences they did.

It meant something to those girls.

It apparently still does.

It touched them in such a profound way, they are willing to reach out and help make sure my daughter can have the same experience they did.

And if it can have that kind of lasting impact on a woman’s heart and life, how can it be bad?  And why would you not want that same kind of experience for your own daughter?

Amy did go on to make the comment about the uniforms the cheerleaders wear.  She thinks they are revealing.  I will admit, that some of the uniforms I’ve seen at some of the bigger schools, (especially on the college level) can be very revealing.  But I also have to admit, that honestly? Swimsuits at the public pool are way more revealing than any high school cheerleading uniform I’ve ever seen.  Our cheer uniforms?  Not revealing in the least.  But, we are a small rural school. (K-12 plus administration? All under 1 roof. The entire district, contained in 1 building. Yeah, we’re pretty small, but we’ve got big dreams! Our boys basketball team made it to the Final Four in State play-offs this year!!) But even when I was in high school our cheerleader’s uniforms weren’t revealing at all. BUT I understand that some schools are.  I get that.

I will admit that I probably took a very innocent exchange in a blog post and made it personal, and therefore I am being very careful to be sure I am not in any way attacking Amy or her point of view. I’m sure, if I asked, Amy would have her reasons for feeling the way she does about cheerleaders and her daughter becoming one or not several years into the future.  I haven’t asked.  Maybe I should.

Cheerleading, at least for my daughter, has been nothing but a positive experience that has opened doors and possibilities for Tate.  Apparently it was a very positive and uplifting and meaningful experience for several of my readers/friends who have offered to help make sure Tate can continue to cheer next year.

I blame myself, because I can’t find anyone else to blame, damnit

Whew!  What a day.  Days like this were made for Xanax.

This week was a larger than normal pay check for me, and after listening to the girls whine every. single. morning about having ‘nothing to wear’, I decided it was time to take them out to get some jeans.  After all, it seems that the 90+ degree days are a thing of the past (knock on wood) and it’s time to get them some jeans.

And teach them a lesson in responsibility.

Brian’s mom has been paying them all summer for doing chores around her house.  They need to pull their weight, and they can earn money to pay for some of their school clothes.

We gave them each $20 and told them, “When it’s gone, it’s gone.”  And off we went.

Being the smart adults we are, Mimi and I took them to consignment shops in the area.  The clothes there are as good as new (or almost) and are already broke in, and have been washed and have shrunk as much as they are going to shrink.  All good.

We hadn’t even gotten out of the driveway when…

It was going to be one of *those* days.  You know, a Captain Morgan kind of day.

The first store?  Nothing there that would interest a 42 year old single mom, let alone two teenage divas in training.

The 2nd store?  They found shoes and purses and more shoes and it looked like a Hookers ‘R’ Us outlet.  I was not about to let them buy anything at that store.

They say the third time is a charm.  Store number three.  6000 square feet of nothing but rejected clothes, dishes, shoes, coats, toys, games, jewelry, purses, you name it, I’m sure we could have found it.

Except jeans the girls would actually consider putting on their damn butts.

I know I pulled two dozen pairs of jeans off the racks to show them.  Every. Single. Pair had something wrong with them.  “They’re too dark”.  “I don’t like the pockets”, “They’re skinny jeans”,  “They look too big”  “They look too small”,  “I just don’t like the way they look”.

Finally, I told them, if you can’t find a pair of jeans, you can just go to school naked.  I don’t want to hear any more whining and crying and arguing about how you have ‘nothing to wear’.

Apparently, those are the magic words to make every pair of jeans in the store magically delicious and dressing room worthy.

I know, I know, I know, I should be damn proud of them for being “just like me”, or at least, just like I wanted to be at that age, but couldn’t, because my mom and dad couldn’t afford the wardrobe I wanted to wear and nobody had even heard of consignment shops, and really?  I doubt I would have worn second hand clothes at that age, but maybe I would have because I remember I used to love to find the trashiest, sluttiest shoes at yard sales and buy them.  I thought they were cool.  My parents? Not so much.

I also know I have nobody to blame for their behavior but myself.  I have created these little divas in training.  Now I just have to find a way to live with them.

Somebody pass me the Captain Morgan.