Competition day draws nigh, and I am beginning to feel as though I have purchased a frequent rider ticket on the bus circling crazy town. Luckily, I am joined by some of my close friends, so the ride, while disturbing, is not lonely.
One close Momzilla friend has made herself very nearly committable in fretting about her skater's photos. On learning that the official photographer did not guarantee that each skater would be photographed unless photos were preordered, she very nearly lost her mind and her voice actually reached that particular pitch of panic that is typically reserved for the Bluetoothed sycophantic assistants of fashion designers who realize that most of the outfits are missing about ten minutes before a runway show. The problem is that in the event that any events are not photographed, she risks having an incomplete record of this competition for her skater's album.
After having this conversation and emerging from my brief moment of utter disbelief that a well-educated professional actually spoke those words, I did feel a tiny bit guilty that not only do I not have albums of any sort for my own children, I forgot to bring a camera or video camera, other than my cellphone, to record my youngest child's first competition.
There's a fine line between obsessive and neglectful, it would seem.
Perhaps in an effort to make up for that neglect, I found myself waiting for my car to be finished with its oil change, and noting the rise in my blood pressure as I watched the clock tick away. You see, practice ice was about to be released, and I risked not being there at the exact moment that it started, which would run the risk of my basic skills skaters not getting assigned to practice ice the morning of their competitive events.
The good news? I recognized that I was freaking out in an inappropriate manner.
The better news? My kids got the prime practice ice sessions.
The moral? That fine line between neglect and obsession? No match for Momzilla.