Spit up and Smiles

I sit in the stands of the state high school basketball tournament games drinking my contraband smuggled in diet coke because the concession stand only sells diet pepsi. My eyes drift from the game to the student section three sections over. The 15 year old version of me sticks out with her bright eyes, smiling face and her long red hair. Oh and how she resembles me. My eyes and nose and features. My skin tone and hair. Expressions. The smile? That’s all her dad. But every other time her mouth opens it’s me. Victory face in volleyball, rolling the eyes, sarcastic comments, and it’s a perfect size 8.5, just like mine. (Matches our feet.)

She has more confidence than me. Not just then I had at that age, I think she has more confidence then I do now. Pink boots, gray yoga pants, Heights baseball tee shirt, circa 2009 (which makes it retro and way cool) and hoodie. Perfect top teeth, braces on the bottom.

I see her, head thrown back, mouth wide open in a laugh. I see her lean over and talk in Madeline’s ear. Not because it’s a secret, but because it’s loud right there next to the band. When I look again she’s with Claire. And the next time with Denae. Her circle. Her friends.

I think about volleyball practice earlier this week. The girls were playing 4 on 4. Joe and I decided to make it 5 on 5, me on Whitney’s team and him on Denae’s. And I played back row only. Was doing okay. I’m out of practice, but in good shape. Then Abby’s dad and Denae’s mom made it full teams of 6. And my little Whitney told me where to cover, this is my “base area”, followed by “never mind, mom, I’ll cover for you”. And then she did. As did Keeley and Abby. Which was sweet, but then they started setting Denae’s mom. And letting her dive for the ball. This was confusing, because I’m in better shape. I’m still athletic. I’m tough, I played competitively up till 3 years ago. I didn’t recently break my finger playing volleyball and end up with surgery and pins in it and 5 weeks off from work to recover.

Somehow Whitney felt the need to protect me. And her friends followed her lead in that. Honestly I was touched, not insulted.

Her life has so much promise. It’s all ahead of her. She’s been hurt. Life has handed her some rough situations to deal with early on. Which is why she is so tough already. And I’m overwhelmed with child-woman I see across the crowd, the responsibility I still have to guide her into adulthood, and the hope that life sees her as wonderful as I do.

Motherhood is not for the faint of heart. Unfortunately, by the time you know that you are knee deep in spit up and smiles, ear aches and adventures in living room furniture tent camping, mac n cheese and hot dogs, backpacks and first days of school and their first taste of freedom as someone else begins to speak into their lives.

As a 15 year old sophomore, she still surprises me. This wonder that tells her dad she wants to be an anesthesioligist and tells me she wants to work at Hooters. That asks for Little Debbie snack cakes and black beans and rice. That gets excited about Lion King (and Lion King II and Lion King 1 1/2). That knows more about the ways of the world than I would ever want her to know and yet is strangely innocent. That tried out for the track team and not like last time, eighth grade year as a manager, this year she’s throwing the Javelin on the JV team. Woooo hoooo, Go Falcons! My two sport athlete.