43-year-old Cartwheels-from "Mom E-mails"

June 17 2008

Today I took my 6-year-old to gymnastics and they were practicing cartwheels and handstands. She understood the concept of the handstand but cartwheels involved too many things going on at once. After watching ten other little girls whip off a cartwheel like they've been doing it all their lives, she attempted to copy them, crumpling to the floor in a sparkly, spandex'ed heap.
On the way out, the instructors handed all the girls a sheet of paper, which turned out to be an incentive program to practice the skills at home. For each skill they master, they got a puzzle piece. When the "puzzle" was completed, they got 10 free tokens to Adventure Landing.
Very nice.
Being extremely goal-driven, my child asked me for help.
And not knowing this was a set-up, I said yes.
We got home and our practice session went something like this:

Step 1) I throw myself into a somewhat round'ish cartwheel--akin to throwing my 43-year-old body off a 5'4" bridge onto the floor.
Step 2) I laugh at myself, feeling kind of surprised that 30 years should make that much of a difference on my cartwheels. However, I try again--this time counting off what was supposed to hit the ground first.
Step 3) I suffer a withering glance from my 6-year-old as she notices all of my counting can't cover up the fact that everything kind of hit the ground all at once.
Sighing, she tries to duplicate my lame attempt.
Step 4) I take a deep breath and try again to perform a cartwheel. I mean really, 30 years was not that long ago. This time, I try it without counting.
Step 5) I pick myself up off the floor and determined to look like the gymnast I was, try again. This time, I crash over my child as she was trying out her own cartwheel and smack my head into the coffee table.
Step 6) At this point, my little gymnast gets very angry at me because she can't "get it," and of course, as with everything, it is my fault. Plus, she informs me, I have squashed her finger with my big foot.
I apologize profusely.
I kiss her upturned finger, which, oddly enough, is the middle one.
I tell her that her cartwheels look as good as mine.
She doesn't laugh at my joke.
On top of that--she gives me "The Look."

For those of you unfamiliar with, “The Look,” I will translate it for you;
"Mommy sucks right now because I'm hurt and mad."

This echoes similar “Looks” such as;
"Mommy sucks when she is waving a book in front of my face and trying to get me to read,"
"Mommy sucks because she is lecturing me about something I can't possibly care about right now," and,
"Mommy sucks because she is trying to get me to eat broccoli."

I can't win.

In the words of Claire from “The Breakfast Club”: "I'm sooo popular, do you know how popular I am?"
Of course, dear Claire was high at the time...