Wooow.

Did you see? Did you see me with the basketball? Which was actually a toddler-sized soccer ball? Thus not easily dribble-able? Not that I'm defensive about my lack of coordination?

My mother called me this morning to enjoy a hearty laugh regarding my clumsy attempt at sporty behavior, but I contend that I was doing a wacky little bit for Henry's enjoyment. I believe that behaving like a doofus will enhance my son's self-esteem. I consulted several experts about this, because I am a Super-Achieving Perfectionist Robo-Mom. (To be specific, an SAPRM3000, ver. 3.8.)

I was moderately pleased with the segment, but I had low expectations to begin with. I think the idea of an "Alpha Mom" as an actual human being is hilarious, frankly. It's a brand. It's not an identity. It's like having a segment on Club Mom and asking, "Why do these women think they're clubs? Are they actually heavy sticks, thicker on one end than the other? Are they lady cudgels? If so, what makes them like this?"

Henry entered his classroom this morning and shouted, "Attention, everyone! I was on TV today!" Of course, he had nothing to be ashamed of; when thrown a ball on national television, he manages to catch it. That kind of natural star quality--you can't fake that.

Updated to add: the video will be uploaded tonight, when my technically savvy husband comes home.

Updated, again: Here it is...