Silly? Maybe

Last week we took Ethan to his first gymnastics class. Because he's turning three this week, he was able to be in the Kinderoo class for three and four year olds instead of the Toddleroo class for babies. He loved it. They had obstacle courses set up to take the kids through. They had a trampoline for the kids to jump on, ramps for them to roll down, and bars for them to hang from. It was fabulous for Ethan. Not so fabulous for me.

Alyssa is in a cheerleading class, which is perfect for her temperment and energy level. When she saw the older girls doing kartwheels on the balance beams and flipping around the uneven bars, she spent the entire forty-five minutes of Ethan's class begging to be put in gymnastics. I told her no, because we had just barely signed her up for this semester of cheeleading, but she conitued to beg. And Alyssa can beg. Boy, can she beg. Marcus wanted to be playing on the trampoline and ramps and bars with Ethan very bladly. He kept trying to run into the gymnastics area, and he would grunt and cry and scream every time I thwarted his attempts. Like I said, not so fabulous for me.

So at the end of the class, I was at the end of my rope. I hulded Marcus into my arms, started stuffing him into his coat, and grumpily ordered Alyssa to please stay in one spot so I could gather up the boys and all of our things. When I was finished zipping up Marcus' coat, I turned to tell Alyssa it was time for her to head to the front door while I waited for Ethan to be done, but she was gone. She was all the way over on the other side of the gym, watching flips and summersaults. I stomped to her side and started to pull her toward Ehtan's class (which was now letting him out), telling her to please put on her coat, stay with me, do not leave me again, listen to what I say, whydoesn'tshelistentomedoesn'tsheknowthatI'minchargewhattheheckamIdoingthisallforanyway?

I was in this fazzled, horrible state when I saw someone I recognized. I won't give his name, to save myself some embarrassment, but I'll tell you that I knew him from elementary school. He went to school with me all the way through graduation, I assume, but I didn't take huge note of him in elementary school and didn't take note of him much at all after that. I saw him sitting there, happily, with a cute little girl sitting on his lap. He was handsome, which surprised me a little. He had a "tail" on the back of his neck when he was a kid, which I found gross even back then, and here he sat, hair nice, clean shaven, handsome, and nicely dressed.

And there I was, toting three unruly kids around, yelling at them, and bumbling my way to the entrance. Granted, he probably didn't notice me, and if he did, I'm sure he didn't recognize me, and if by chance he did, he probably doesn't even care. And I don't know why I care. I'm happily married to a wonderfully handsome guy, so it's not like that. I guess it's just that when you see people from your past, even if they played a tiny, insignifigant role in that past, you want them to think the best of you. He was putting his best foot forward, which didn't seem all that difficult from looking at the well-behaved cutie on his lap, and I definitely was not.

So today I have my hair pulled up. I'm wearing makeup. I plan on wearing a cute shirt and some good shoes. I'm going to give Alyssa a lecture she'll never forget on the drive over. I'm going to go ahead and chase Marcus around and try to engage him with the toys, like I did last week, because there's not much I can do about him right now. I'm not going to do those things for this guy, but for me, really. For my confidence and self esteem. To prove to the world and the people of my past that I have grown up, that I can be beautiful and poised and put together. And even though it may be silly, hopefully it'll help me feel better than I felt last week. And then again, maybe it all doesn't even matter, anyway.