So this is not going to turn into blog where all I do is talk about The Time Allison Staged A Flash Mob To Call Me Maybe Swim Team Edition, I promise.
I would like to pack that memory up in a box and file it away with the other boxes of horror brought on by my idiocy.
But first, I have been thinking about this all day, I have to pay some serious respect, in word form as that is how she likes it (and I TOTALLY get that), to my daughter E.
E is my 9 year old, middle daughter, and she is a handful, and I say that with complete respect and admiration as well as exhaustion.
While my older daughter V is quiet, mysterious artist who is very still water running deep and frequently an enigma to me, and my youngest M is a blindingly sparkly and confident bundle of awesome and bossy in equal parts, covered in lip gloss,
E is more emotion-driven, and also Extreme Communicator and Writer of Documents, so there is a huge common denominator with E and me, which is,
we have great talks, read together on my bed, and FIGHT.
E does quite the tantrum, always has, and can go from zero to 60 in one second, and you really want to avoid that if you can.
And because she and I both are People Who Want The Last Word, and also more emotional than rational at times (or always), we can get into quite the tussle, and do so, A LOT.
And she knows my buttons, and pushes them, and my Planned Calm Parenting turns into this:
Me: "Uh huh."
Me: "Uh huh."
Wait, this is not the Ode I was planning, but I always feel like I need to set up the scene, like all professional screenwriters do (for the movie that will eventually star me and I am thinking Rob Pattinson as Matt because Matt is very busy) .
Ths particular thing went down last night at the swim team banquet, and I certainly have detailed my lunatic, what in the world flash mob idea and execution, especially the moment in which I am up in front of all the known world (well, a lot of our friends and my kids friends etc) and flash mob is supposed to start, and I am ALL ALONE.
That may have been a brief second, but trust me, it felt like a really long time.
And as panic and terror and oh NO why do I do these things set in, I scan the room for something, anything, an ally, and what do I see first?
E, in her lovely lavender dress she has been saving for weeks to wear tonight, with her hair done just like she likes it after an hour of us working on it, pushes back her chair and stands up.
This is E, who cares a LOT about what her friends, her coaches, anyone really thinks of her.
She is also tactical and smart and knows a lost cause when she sees one, and at that second, I was Mom Up In Front Of Everyone Looking Foolish.
And my daughter, this girl who cares so much about what her friends and the world thinks, at that moment, she cared about me more.
I know she did, I saw the look in her eyes, it was "I've got your back."
I saw the way she straightened herself up and came forward, knowing possible total humiliation was a good bet in this case, and that is her worst nightmare.
And yet, she was the first one up.
And I know it was not because she just couldn't contain her desire to do a flash mob song and dance, it was for me.
I got that, it was like a tidal wave for me.
I realize that it is not always going to go down like that, and that at some point she is going to cut bait if I am being ludicrous at Brownies or whatever, and they better invent giant Xanax IV drips when she is teenager, but I am kind of fine with that.
It is kind of how it supposed to be, especially when it comes to E and me, we will go off and Write Documents and Last Word each other ad nauseum.
But it is moments like last night, when she pushed aside extreme social anxiety and came by my side (and the influx of awesome little flash mob girls and fab coaches immediately followed, and they are all stamped super cool by me),
that will be a little treasure for me.
And I swear, if she ever stages a flash mob, I am ON IT.