St. Sebastian

We all know what happened to him....shot with arrows, then clubbed to death when the arrows were not enough. I am not sure how this makes him the patron saint of CHEERLEADING, but there you have it.Our terrified Princess has her final cheerleading tryout/cut tomorrow. She elected to try cheerleading instead of soccer to keep herself away from a few of those snotty girls/former teammates who picked on her so relentlessly last semester, so if she doesn't make the squad, she's eliminated herself from any fall activity. She is the only incoming freshman trying out - small town, even smaller Catholic high school with about 300 kids, so there's only one cheerleading squad of 9th-thru-12th graders...which, while scary, could actually work in her favor. She's got some innate talent, she's cute as heck, but she's very self conscious. I can't imagine the pressure she's putting on herself.

I was an "alternate" cheerleader (read: prayed for someone to break an ankle and thus never cheered once) in junior high school, and then resigned myself to being a french horn playing marching band geek in my high school of 2,600, so I have no frame of reference here - nothing to contribute other than calming chats, hot tea, and lots of confidence-boosting hugs. On the inside, I am beside myself hoping tomorrow goes well for her, not for my own "living vicariously" purposes (honest!), but just so she can have a small victory and regain some self-esteem after 6 months of hurt feelings and tears. And...okay, let's face it....from a purely biased, mean mom standpoint, she will look darling in her uniform - much better than the jerseys, pads and cleats her former friends will be wearing this fall! (Hee!)

We shall see. Prayers, crossed fingers, any well wishes would be appreciated!

On a lighter note, we ran out to the Red Circle Boutique (a.k.a., Target) to get some cheering shorts for tomorrow's tryout.

[OK GUYS, YOU MIGHT WANT TO STOP READING RIGHT HERE...]

Oddly enough, we found a cute, non-trashy, inexpensive school-colored (blue with gold trim) cotton bra. We admired it, conferenced, and decided it would be a secret good luck charm for the tryout. Nearby was a shelving unit of various coordinating underwear. My oh my...a matching thong. "Yeah, right." She snorted - loudly - and flung it back down. But then we spied some modest, comfy-looking boy-shorts in the right colors - gold with little blue mustangs, the school mascot - that matched the bra. Fabulous!

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She picked them up, turned them over a few times, held the set up for display and said (in that silly, little-girly way 14 year olds barely still have), "Look Mommy! Pretty horsies!"

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At that precise moment, a tall, dark, darling upperclassman football player from the new school walked right past us with his parents. (Name escapes me, but we've seen him fairly often at Mass - a good thing.) He looked at her in a non-wolfish-yet-appreciative way...until he realized what was in her hands. He stopped dead in his tracks, did a double take, had the grace to be mortified on both her and his own behalf, and quickly sped away. To her credit, the girl did not freak out. She whipped her head away from him and stood frozen in place, undergarments still aloft, for a good minute until she was sure he was gone. Kid: "Ummm...yeah.....let's go pay for this stuff now, shall we?"

Me: "Ri-i-i-i-ght."

We giggled all the way out of the store, 10 minutes home, and for a good long while afterwards when we told the rest of the family what had transpired.

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Is there a Patron Saint of the Abjectly Humiliated?