By Lorry Myers
When I saw my caller ID, I had a feeling my day was about to change. My adult daughters were on a joint road trip to visit an old college roommate in Northern Missouri. The friend had volunteered to work a booth at a local community fair that Hilary and Mariah were to keep her company during her shift. The event also promised a street carnival and a beer garden.
The kind of garden my daughters enjoy cultivating.
When I said “Hello?” I could feel the panic through the phone.
“Mom!” my oldest daughter screeched. “We are in big trouble.”
Here we go again.
It just so happened that Hilary and Mariah were hanging out with their friend at the fair booth watching the festivities when the event organizer approached them and asked since the girls were strangers in town, could they be the judges for the Baby Show?
“Don’t do it!” I barked into the phone. “I was a Baby Show judge at a County fair once and it was brutal!”
“Too late,” Hilary said, with impending doom in her voice. “We didn’t know how to say no.”
I have heard that excuse before.
Minutes later I get a call from my younger daughter and almost didn’t answer because I knew where this was going.
“Mom!” Mariah whispered. “Do you know how many categories and how many babies are in this show? Everyone is looking at us and some of these mothers look like they lift weights. What are we going to do?”
Obviously, baby show winners are based merely on preference. Some judges like bald babies, some prefer babies with curls. Sometimes there is an obvious winner and sometimes another baby is chosen. In the end some baby has to win.
More than one has to lose.