Good Thing I Love My Job

You know you love your job (and your babies) when...
Me: (5:00 a.m. alarm rings, mumbling almost incoherently) "What day is it?"
Clayton: "Friday. You can sleep in tomorrow."
Me: "No, last cheerleading competition."
Clayton: "Are you volunteering at the scoring table again?"
Me: "Yeah."
Clayton: "Will you be glad when it's over?"
Me: "Kinda."
We're all sort of tired of the season, the ice bags for injured ankles, the reorganization or cancellation of practices and competitions due to illnesses, broken noses, and concussions, the catty girls who love each other one minute and hate each other the next, the coach who puts her heart and soul into a thankless job, the parents who have sore rumps from sitting on hard bleachers for hours on end.
But the last competition EVER means my baby girl is graduating high school. I ordered her cap and gown yesterday. It's getting real. I've been saying for years, "I have X number of years (now months, soon-to-be weeks) to go to cheerleading competitions, track meets, choir concerts, and the rest of my life to go to my office. In a few weeks I’ll be to that point where I’ll have enough time in my day to invest in my job.
​Good thing I love my job.