Hoping the big sister of this email finds her way to me.

I sat in a hallway halfway between 2 Tae Kwon Do studios today, waiting for ninja #1 and ninja #2 to finish their classes, as I obsessively checked my smartphone for an email. THE email which would (hopefully) invite me to Round 3 of the Walt Disney World Mom’s Panel.

The Mom’s Panel gives advice to folks who are curious about how to make their vacation more magical, (or how to avoid losing either your luggage or your patience while traveling) and the feedback comes from parents, aunts, and friends-just not official Disney employees. 20,000 apply for about 12 spots.  Perks seem to include a fabulous trip to Disney, a cool jacket (very “pink ladies”), more swag, and bragging rights.  It hit me  that the role is much like that of Miss America-for a year you represent, as an ambassador of good and nice things, people look at you, there are some happy tears, and even tiaras.  After a year, usually, you pass it on. Not much more wealthy, but more experienced with a few new friends.

Except, Moms panelists can eat chocolate. In fact, I think they want you too. There is no swimsuit competition.  In fact, I don’t think they want you to, otherwise the training would not be in December.  Also, I would not have made it this far.  I’ve been reviewing message boards, twitter feeds and blogs like someone just diagnosed with something strange, and nobody mentions bikinis. Shoes, yes. Did I mention the jacket? I want the jacket. A lot.

But I watched as both my ninjas arrived on time for class, bowed in, kicked the X-ray paper and dodged the boppers at the lessons that were as expensive as a whole of lot of Disney Vacation Club points, and I hoped they would get the recognition they coveted-a red piece of tape.  (Actual value of said reward, less than one cent.) This meant that they did an excellent job in class. (Priceless.) One had a class of 6, the other 30.  In the class of 6, no tapes were given out. At the class of 30, 3 were given out, and not to my (other) kid.  I also did not have an email that started with “Congratulations,” in my in-box.  None of our trio got “some feedback” that said, “We like you a lot, we just have a few things to consider before we reward you.” Just radio silence, with which we had to cope.

I went into coach mode and tried to console a 5-year old, while loading up with pointers about sitting more still next time, or making eye contact with the Masters.  ”I am not disappointed, though, Mom.  Maybe next time.”

Then I went to the other class to pick up Ninja Sr., and I realized he’d had a wardrobe malfunction of some kind and was no longer wearing a belt. After class, the Master gave it to him and when I asked what happened, assuming  there was some embarrassing back story, I was told, “It fell off. It happens.”

As we dodged the raindrops to the car, and I tried to mask my disappointment about not yet knowing if I were on Mickey’s short list, I looked at these kids who give 30 minutes, twice a week, of their best.  Sometimes, their best is awesome.  Sometimes, their best wiggles, chews on a sleeve, and ends up missing pieces of apparel.  Whether or not they are recognized for their excellence, or their “good enough”ed-ness (yes, I made up a word) doesn’t make or break them. It just is.  Hope I remember to act like a knee-high ninja when the next email comes, and the moments between now and then.  I can wait with the best of them, and in fact, I will.