Just Do Your Best

Just so you know, I was the perfect child. Raised as basically an only child, my parents were on easy street. I didn't want play dates, or dolls, or even, heaven forbid, Barbies. I just wanted to dance and dance I did. I was that hard-working, not so talented child, but I loved it and always, always gave 100%. Practice, competition, parade, or performance. I lived for it and never forced my parents to utter the words, "as long as you do your best, I will be happy."

Nope, never!

Isabel has recently taken up competitive gymnastics and she is oozing potential from every hair on her precious head to a perfect toe point (one I never had). She did one handstand her first day of recreation class and was pulled aside for the "join the team talk" from Coach Peter. Poor me, I didn't see it coming! I should have run her out of the gym screaming nooooooooooo at the top of my lungs. You see, competitive gymnastics is 100% harder on mom than talent-ridden child. Let me just take one moment and acknowledge (for Jenny's benefit) that this is level 3, not even USGA sanctioned competitions. I get that, I know that, I've sat through 3 of these nightmare events and held my apprehension at complete bay, knowing that this in no way counts as official gymnastics torture. Until the last one.

We had the talk, "just do your best", "we love you whether you stay on the beam or not", "as long as you smile, you're number one". But here's the problem, she didn't do her best, she didn't smile and no she didn't stay on the beam. And it was all downhill from there.

Beam was first, thank goodness, get that torture out of the way. She fell early on, but finished strong and we were sure she would bounce back. Floor, ugh, not bad, but no smile or enthusiasm. Then came vault. Let me just say, she's become very good and very strong here and she had two FANTASTIC practice vaults. When her turn came, we all had to yell at her to crawl out of the ball she was in to get up, then she did some unrecognizable run, jump, somersault, flail thing. Good thing you get two turns at vault right? Coach Michelle had a talk with her, went over the vault with her and gave her that almighty pat on the bum. Isabel, my talented daughter proceeded to repeat, but with significantly more flailing the first vault. At this point I was hoping she would come down with the stomach flu on the way home, puking all over my car explaining why she was so out of sorts. Bars were last and simply put, more flailing.

I was at a complete loss for words. She knew, I knew, she knew that I knew and we both knew not talk about it. What do you say to your 8-year-old when she just flat out didn't............didn't anything, try, smile, do? This was gonna take some help, specifically, a double bacon cheeseburger, large fry and Biggie diet coke from Wendy's. I like to call it cheap therapy.

Once I sucked all of that down, I ventured a little backseat conversation with the girl. I can't say that we solved anything, but I am proud to say that my daughter knew I still loved her after all was said. It wasn't fun though, calling her out on the not trying, not smiling thing. But she is almost nine (gulp) and accountability is big in our house. The silver lining in this fiasco, is we're done for the year, no meets until next March. I may recuperate by then.

Later, I finally asked my mom why she had been smirking all day. Was she enjoying the turmoils of watching me parent or just in a really good mood. Her answer? Apparently, I wasn't perfect and history had just repeated itself.