Why we hate her....

So "Lizzy's" been cheering for the JV basketball squad all year. Cute uniform, cute routines, happy smiles, confidence building. Everything you want your 10 year old to feel.

So the end of the season is near and the squad is offering mementos of the season by having an "official" cheering picture taken and then you are free to indulge your young progeny's ego by getting their picture on every possible conveyance known to man.

Picture on a mug. Picture on a sport bottle. Picture on a blanket. Picture on a porcelain bidet (ok, maybe not). Picture package with a bunch of different sizes. Picture. Picture. Picture.

You get the picture (I love a good pun, don't you?).

So of course we find out a day late and a dollar short that she has to have all the orders in by Wednesday (which gives us all of 2 days to order the stuff). This is standard operating procedure for them. Lizzy does her best to remember, but she's 10. You'd think that she'd get a little boost from her -ahem- Mother in making sure this stuff get's communicated.

It just doesn't happen.

So, we get the notice late and never fear because her -ahem- Mother will pay for whatever I order with the understanding that I'll pay her back the next day when I get the kids. 24 hours later.

Liz is happy. She gets some mementos from her cheering squad and I'm sure she's happy with the thought that, yes in fact her -ahem- Mother will in fact see her in her cheering uniform doing cheers. Maybe not live in the flesh, because God forbid she'd have to get off her dead ass and make an effort, but at least in picture form so she could see that yes her daughter did well.

This of course changed when I got this text message at 3:00pm on Tuesday (a day before the order is due):

"Hi, I just wanted to let you know that I will not be able to pay for Liz's cheering pictures. If you still want them you can buy by credit card. Liz has the information."

Of course this causes Liz to freak out because now she's thinking no-one is going to get to see her and she's not going to have a sport bottle with her picture on it. When you're 10 this stuff really matters, and come to think of it when you're 42 it really matters too.

This from the woman that has a -ahem- "job" that pays her $300 per week to do ABSOLUTELY nothing but make sure those two kids don't light themselves on fire, play with caustic chemicals, or eat anything near nutritious (why cook when Papa Gino's makes such great garlic bread? Garlic's a vegetable right...).

There's a special hot pointy rock in Hell waiting for her and it gives me such satisfaction knowing that.