Cheerleading

I have officially turned into my mother. I enjoy Lily's basketball games more than is probably appropriate, but there is something about sitting on the sidelines, clutching my industrial-sized travel mug of FREE coffee (thanks, YMCA!) with the other mothers, watching our kids run around and bang into each other during what is maybe the most entertaining 45 minutes of controlled chaos I have ever seen, that makes me really happy. Lily stands off to the side with her hands up, not really sure why, hopping from one foot to the other, scratching her legs, fixing her socks, wiping her chapped lips with the bottom of her shirt, and flinching when the ball comes near her (awww, just like mama), and I hear myself going, "GOOD TRY, LILY!!!" just like my own mom did so many years ago when I slouched on the soccer field, checking my watch, picking underneath my nails and trying hard as I could to avoid the ball.

Still, Mom was at every single game, the loudest voice of everyone, cheering me on. "Go, Krissy! Almost, almost!! Nice try! Get in there! GOOD FOOT!!!"

I knew she was bullshitting, and I loved her even more for it. Because I knew she got a big charge out of bringing her portable chair and pack of smokes (or 2 lb bag of sunflower seeds, after she quit), and just watching her daughter be a part of the game. And lets face it, there are some talented kids out there. I love watching the little guy who looks like a pint-sized John Starks literally smack the ball out of the opponents hands and shoot a basket from half court. I swear, this kid is 3 and a half feet tall and very possibly will grow up to be a midget, but he's a powerhouse.

And there's an excitement in hoping that one day, just maybe, Lily might actually get a breakaway and shoot that one-in-a-million shot for the team. Most likely not. I mean, really, yeah...no. But she's having fun either way. And a mother can dream.

Oh, and PS...to avoid ball-busting from my dad who inevitably will read this post and leave me a voice mail on my cell: "Ah, Kristin..." (professional-sounding throat-clearing), "I, too was at all of your games...what a selective memory my older daughter has..." it's true, he was. So there. Kisses.