[DISCLAIMER: I know there are plenty of very natural looking and very sweet girls who enter and win beauty pageants. I know this because I have met them and some of them are my friends' kids. I know there are plenty of opportunities that come from pageants and that they can help instill poise and grace and all those other nice things little girls are supposed to have. I get it. But this isn't a story about you. It's a story about me. *adjusts crown*]
I know I'm psychotic. I know it's not normal to scream at umpires and want to fight some adult man for saying your kid sucks (not really but in so many words kinda yes he did ... but I'll save that for another blog post). I know it's not normal to really hate another group of kids because they beat your group of kids in a baseball playoff game. And let's not discuss the kid from the other school who broke your kid's arm in football. (Not really. He fell on it. It's easier to blame the other guy.)
My distaste for other children dates way back to when Casey was about 3 on a playground and some kid didn't want to share the slide. I mean what kind of parent raises a kid who hogs the slide? Not a good parent, that's who!
But I am pretty sure I hit a new low at my daughter's school sponsored beauty pageant last spring. And you know what? Maybe I am still a little bitter?
When I agreed to let Hallie enter the beauty pageant for our school system (AS A FUNDRAISER FOR THE HIGH SCHOOL BAND, MIND YOU), I decided how unfair to win both Miss Photogenic and all the other possible awards like grand supreme and all those other Honey Boo Boo-ish things. So I didn't enter her in the photogenic category because duh. Have you seen those dimples? Winning! And my photos have won many pageants before. (Not my kid, just my pics ... have I mentioned I am a photographer?)
Hallie was 5 at the time. In kindergarten. The information came home and I signed her up for what was to be the first of many pageants she would reign supreme in ... see what I did there? Reign supreme? I borrowed a dress from a neighbor because - hello? - she was 5. We went to the rehearsal. We went as early as we could on the day of the pageant to set up our stuff and get ready. We did her makeup (correction: we did her makeup appropriate for a 5 year old) and we hot rolled her hair. (Embarrassing to admit but I have watched enough Toddlers in Tiaras to know she needed big hair.) We put on her beautiful dress. We pinned her number on. We made friends with the other girls and moms in that room.
I sized up the other girls. Bless their hearts. No. Sweet things. I mean, they seemed very nice and were all very cute. But no. We had this LOCKED. UP. I was fist bumping and high-fiving Hallie in my head. Carefully, of course ... didn't want to wreck the hair.
The head pageant director (or whatever she was called) walked in and gave us the 10 minute warning.
Then it happened. In walks this girl. She had her spray tan and eyelashes on. Full face of makeup. Foundation, friends! FOUND. A. TION. She was 5!! Her pageant coach (not kidding) was with her. And she was carrying a dress bag that was bigger than the one my wedding dress is still stored in (unclean). Out comes this purple gown that had more layers of ruffles than could fit in that tiny room. Hallie said, "OOOOOOOOOOOOH that's a pretty dress!" I said under my breath, but loud enough for God to hear, "No. It's very obnoxious and she will look like that purple guy from McDonalds or, worse yet, Barney." (This was actually me using tact and not saying, "Who the hell would spend that much money on a dress for a 5 year old?")
Had I hit a new low? Obviously. Very obviously. I was irritated. But one look at the purple girl and I knew that Hallie was so much cuter than she was and would ultimately win because Hallie looked like a 5 year old, not a tramp. These are normal thoughts, right? I'm not alone, right?
They send the moms out to sit in the audience. Out I go. I remind Hallie on my way to smile and do her little waves at each post as we have practiced complete with a blown kiss to the judges at turn 3.
12 girls in her group. Obviously she is the cutest one. Duh. And she does great! Short of holding her hands together instead of at her side, she was perfect! Purple dress girl goes last. No waves. No kisses. Ha. Loser. These thoughts cross my mind. We have this won!
They call all the girls out to award prizes. There are like 5 different awards you can win .... sweetheart, queen, this, that, another .... photogenic (!) ..... etc.... Award after award goes to this girl. IN THE PURPLE DRESS! I am like are you serious? Have you seen Hallie's dimples?! She is stunning!! She looks like a 5 year old!! That girl looks ridiculous!! I seethe with each award. At the end, every girl gets a participation trophy. The big purple winner walks off with a couple sashes and 2 trophies - one of which is about 5 feet tall! I say, out loud, "I am so pissed. Oh, so you all think my daughter is ugly? I get it. Fine!"
This is a normal reaction to losing a beauty pageant. OBVIOUSLY.
I go back to get Hallie. I can't get in the room because "last in" purple dress girl is blocking the doorway with her big ass dress and taller-than-her-trophies. I roll my eyes very dramatically. I think about giving her a swift push to get through. This seriously crosses my mind. She looks like a brat anyway and probably never shares her toys with her friends. She probably always wants to be the mom when she plays house or the teacher when playing school, too. I can tell she is just awful like that.
Hallie looks at me and shows me her trophy which is all of 5 inches tall. And she says, "Look Mommy! I won!"
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!
This goes against everything I stand for. The participation trophy. But she thinks she won? Do I have to go along with this? I look for my parenting handbook. No handbook. There isn't one, damnit.
So I smile. Hug her. Fight back MY tears.
We literally have to say "excuse me" to get past purple dress and her trophies. (We DO have manners thankyouverymuch.) I smile. Hallie says "I love your dress!" as we walk by. I clench my teeth, set my jaw, and plow forward.
We leave. Go to lunch and she shows everyone who will look at it her trophy. I ask her what she thought of the girl who won the big trophy. She said the big trophy was given to the winner because she had on a purple dress, and she said she would have gotten a bigger trophy, if her dress was purple.
I fight the urge to say bad things about this child who I don't know and dislike anyway. "You are a 43 year old woman," I tell myself. "This isn't normal." But it goes downhill and it gets worse. I know, right?
During the homecoming parade this fall the winners from the spring got to wear their dresses and crowns, ride in convertibles, wave, and throw candy. First grade winner comes rolling by and throws candy at our group with a giant smile and wave. Do you know that I almost picked up the candy and threw it right back at her? Right back at the girl in FIRST GRADE. I honestly almost did that.
[Sidenote: My last blog post was about being a good person 364 days a year. We better make that more like 360 for me and I'll go to confession or something because this ish ain't right. I know.]
Cut to this year. The form came home from school about the pageant and I laughed (evil laugh, mind you) as I ripped it into a million pieces and threw it in the trash. Hallie isn't strong enough to lose twice.
Then I signed her up for soccer. True story.
"Soccer Mom" .... that's worth a try!
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