Just got back home from indoor champs.
This is the last one. The last bus ride, the last scramble to get equipment on and off the floor, the last hurrah.
The band was great, did their best show, and left nothing on the floor. It was their "get on the bus" performance. Even though they didn't finish high in their group, they all knew they did their best. The instructors and the kids had a great time with the photo shoot in front of the MAPS banner--one of the moms took some pictures and shared them with me. One of them included my son glaring at me from the floor during retreat.
Earlier in this blog, he gave me a similar look as a cub scout sitting in a police cruiser. If I had a dollar for every time he threw me shade, I could retire right now.
He had a good time on the floor out there, though. I can see it in the pictures, I can hear it in his voice as we talk.
But he's feeling a little nostalgic.
Like, the whole thing didn't suck, after all.
I *hope* we can get to a place where he can enjoy things in the moment, and not in the rear-view mirror.
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