Homecoming Queen

I was sitting in a McDonald's sipping on my drink surrounded by teenagers. I was in my early 20s, so I wasn't at the point yet where teenagers drove me insane. My husband and I had been appointed to babysit the youth group during that time in our lives, and it struck me as funny since they were the same age as my youngest brother. They were good kids and liked to have a fun time as teenagers always do. As I'm sipping on my drink talking with them, one of them looks at me and says, "You were popular in high school, weren't you?" I almost spewed Sprite on the girl. "What gave you that impression?" I exclaimed. "You just seem like you were popular," she said. I stared off into space and shuddered as I remembered the horrific days of public high school. I was the one who took my diploma and waved good-bye to high school forever never to return. If I could have gone through it all with a magic invisibility cloak like Harry Potter, I definitely would have used it. My only escape was music. I played the most popular instrument in our band. You guessed it. The flute. There were close to 20 flute players in our band. Therefore, I was also labeled a band geek which didn't work for my image. As I am sitting in the stands during the football games, I look at the cheerleaders in their skimpy little skirts waving their pom-poms hating them and yet longing to be part of their group. Marching on the field in my masculine-like uniform and clunky black shoes, I look over at the flag girls in their twirly skirts and delicate shoes hoping they would get clunked in the face with their own pole and yet wanting to twirl right along with them. My freshman year, I was introduced to the great procession of the Homecoming Queen and her attendants. I would long to be nominated each year and yet know it was impossible. Coming out of my haze, I look back at the teenage girl and say, "No. I definitely was not popular." Ten years go by after that observation. Last Saturday morning, I lay in bed pretending to sleep because I don't want to get up just yet. I can hear Justin and Aidan in the other room chatting to each other in their baby talk and then soon the pitter-patter of their feet into our room. They both climb onto the bed and do their usual fighting over mommy. They both have to be the one who is closest to me, but since Aidan is the screamer, Justin ended up laying on my pillow. Then they do the usual, "My mom. No, MY mom. No, MY mom! No! MY mom!" So, to enforce who's mom I am they both put their hands on my head and rub it and all the while I'm pretending to be asleep. This ritual happens again as I am sitting on the couch. They both have to be right beside me and they both shove each other's arms off of me all the while saying, "MY mom!" As I look back at my high school days, I don't care anymore that I never got to be Homecoming Queen or an attendant. I don't care that I wasn't a cheerleader or a flag girl. I'm popular now and being fought over by the most handsome men in the world. I'm a mom and that means more to me than being Homecoming Queen any day.