Accomplishments

My mom has been cleaning out her house. She’s been deep cleaning out her house. Ella has been hearing about this cleaning out process and asked that I put in a special request: she wanted all the trophies that my mom has proudly displayed through the years that represent various accomplishments from her three girls.

I granted Ella the request, but under one condition. We were not going to take home all the trophies, just a few of mom’s old ones. Ella looked at me, twinkle in her eye, and said she was totally fine with that. And there it was – one of those proud mom moments. One of those moments where you imagine your daughter thinking to herself: “Wow, my mom’s cool.” She wanted my old trophies. How cute.

Ella was willing to follow my stipulation; however, my mother was not. She brought over three garbage bags full of trophies and high tailed it out of our house. I had no other choice but to drag them into the living room and dump them on the floor. I told them they could each choose five trophies to keep. The rest were going in the trash.

Ella started crying. Oh the sentiment: “You can’t throw these away! These are not trash! These are trophies!” And then the groveling begun. “Please, please mom don’t put these trophies in the garbage! They’ll just get crushed up and……”

“Fine!” I resented my choice, but I decided to up the number. They could each keep ten. Another proud mom moment. My two kids looked up at me with gratitude in their eyes. I could now hear my sons thoughts right in line with his sisters – “wow, my mom is so cool.”

I thought it was ridiculous to keep twenty old trophies around the house, but I have to admit I had a sense of pride…they wanted something that represented their mom’s “coolness” that I just knew was front and center on their minds.

Both kids began meticulously picking up each trophy, putting much thought into which ones they were going to keep. And here’s how the next several moments went:

“Wow, mom! I can’t believe you got this huge soccer trophy! I didn’t know you could play soccer so awesomely.”

“Yea, well, Jrod, that’s auntie Bekah’s trophy. But look at these….”

“Mom, this trophy is so cool. Look at how huge it is. I mean this is like the biggest trophy I’ve ever seen.”

“Yea, well, Ella, it’s not that big. And, um, that’s Auntie Bekah’s too.” Once they stopped fighting over who would get this prized posession, something else caught their eye.”

“Wow! Look at all these swimming trophies! You must have been the best swimmer ever!”

“Yea, well, kids were Auntie Erin’s, but check out these….”

“Ella! Look at this one! This one is for basketball! Mom, you got a trophy for basketball?”

At this point, I was sitting on the couch with my arms folded. I wasn’t going to answer the question. I wasn’t going to tell them that the five basketball trophies also were my sisters. Yes, friends, I had a thirty-one year old temper tantrum. I was giving them the silently treatment until I finally came up with a plan. I began putting to the side all of my trophies. I then interrupted their “wow’s” and “cool’s” and called the room to attention.

“Guys,” the pride was dripping from my voice, “look over here. These are all of mommy’s trophies. Ella and Jrod, my basketball team may not have won state, I may have only lasted in soccer for one year, and I may not be able to swim a lap, but let me tell you, mommy could play piano duets. I really rocked. I mean, I could really play those concertos.”

As soon as I finished with my “vote for mom” speech, I realized just how lame I sounded. My kids didn’t seem too impressed by the miniture sized cups next to the grand soccer statue.

“Um, cool mom.” I knew J-rod said it merely out of sympathy. So Ella chimed in, following her brothers lead: “Yea, mom, those are, um, cool.”

At that point, I changed the rules. I told them they could still pick out ten trophies, but five of them had to be mine.

They started whining and complaining. They just had to have all ten of auntie E’s and B’s. They were just way cooler! After about thirty seconds, I stepped back from the situation and I started to laugh. What was I saying? Well, I know what I was saying, but really, was I actually telling my children they had to pick my piano trophies to display in their rooms? Yep, I was.

I regained my maturity and told them they they could pick whatever ten they wanted, just put all the rest in paper bags. It didn’t take but another five minutes, and their chosen trophies were proudly put up in their rooms. Ella put them all over her dresser and stood in front of them with a sense of pride and satisfaction. Jrod put them all over his bed, telling me that they would give him good dreams.

Good Grief.

I went down stairs and took the rejected trophies to the garage. I kept three of my trophies for Lily….who I’m sure will very much want them one day….I’m just sure….

So, my dear sisters, my kids admire now everyday your great accomplishments and your magnificent awards. I will swallow my pride and clap my hands along side of my star-struck children. Just remember one thing:

I am the oldest. There are some accomplishments that are so great, they need no trophies or awards, and being the oldest is one of them. And I will remind this to Ella one day when her children are marveling over Jrod’s gold medals and ridiculously sized gold men. So I hold my head up high and tell myself this one little lie: I am the oldest of three. Surely, my friends, they learned it all from me….