Showing posts with label cheerleading mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cheerleading mom. Show all posts

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Pyscho Cheer Mom

We’re cute,

We’re sexy,
We’re popular,
We’re hot.
We’re cheerleaders,
We’re out there
We’re everything you’re not …”

First off, cheer moms are crazy? It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that sometimes it is a bit out of control. I mean, is it possible to have ANY more Lifetime movies on this subject?? Seriously, though, I totally understand, mainly because I am a cheer mom, by choice, but not one of those crazy cheer moms (or so I hope, I haven't put a hit on anybody yet, but Audrey is only 6). As much as every sporty parent says, "It doesn't matter if you win as long as you have fun," nobody wants their kid running around picking daisies on the football field and taking somersaults off the mat. See, cheer moms are worse than any other parent because to us cheerleading is unique unlike other sports where kids are required to be fast, fit, and ferocious, in addition, the girls are also expected to be perky and cute all while sporting the perfect round-off, back hand spring, back tuck. Cheerleading isn’t just a sport; it is a way of life. Though, I do miss the life of when I was a cheerleader and only had to do a freaking cartwheel and show up to the football games.

I understand the life, but I often wonder what stage of a cheer mom I am at. I don't want to go all Texas Cheer Mom on my daughter, but do get a twinge of panic when her three tier pyramid falls. Last time I was at a cheer competition I saw a lady sitting there on the bleachers with a smug smile wearing a big round button with her daughters picture on it and a t-shirt that says, "Proud mom of a MAC Cheerleader!" and having handwritten "captain" above it!. A bit of an over kill even for my overly Jazz Hands personality.

While I do not relish the thought of spending the rest of my child’s life sitting in bleachers suffering whatever potential weather conditions the universe cares to hurl at us; holding a video camera to capture the spunky one’s gyrations, kicks and yells; driving all over hell and back with at least six squealing cutie pies overtaking the radio controls of my vehicle, I will support my currently ecstatic daughter throughout her cheerleading career. What choice do I have? I kinda set myself up for this. Honestly, I am excited. While I can’t sport the “Cheerleaders do it Kicking” shirt, I can beam with pride as my baby makes it to Nationals... well maybe in a couple of years.


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 I haven't had time to write in about two years. My daughter said to update my thousands of followers.  Hello World! It's me, Debbie...