I am a Trophy Mom, which is less cool than a Trophy Wife (a title I relinquished long ago mainly because it was never bestowed upon me). Trophy Moms like me are not trophies themselves but rather the ridiculous and indiscriminate distributor of trophies to other people, particularly their children. I realized today that it takes nearly NOTHING to impress me. My kids stepped five inches into their new Parents’ Day Out, and I exclaimed, “I’m so proud of you!” and meant it wholeheartedly. When I was waiting to pick them up, I turned into an actual beam of light because I was so overwhelmed with pride that my babies went to school, a.k.a., did nothing special. I mean, I have been tap dancing ever since I picked them up. I actually think my face is not longer a face but a giant banner that says HOORAY. We came home and ate popcorn and I ceremoniously placed Olympic medals around their necks while singing the National Anthem and sobbing over the pictures they colored of apples.

Can you imagine what will happen if my children end up actually being good at anything? What will become of me? I may turn into a pile of confetti or spend all our savings on shirts with their faces on them. Verily verily I say unto you, I AM NOT PREPARED IF THEY END UP HAVING ANY KIND OF SPECIAL SKILL. 

Look, guys, I was raised in the world of participation trophies, and the participation trophies have seeped into my DNA, and now I have become this strange Trophy Mom creature, the celebrator of nothing, handing out congratulatory certificates willy nilly, acting like my toddlers solved world hunger instead of just ate all of their lunch.

When I was nine, I was in a golf tournament. I wore a white polo and turquoise shorts, and I thought I looked awesome. There were nine girls in my age group, and I got fifth place. A girl with ugly, long shorts got first place, and I was not jealous because her shorts were dumb. They only gave out trophies for the top four, which was sad, but again, in a nine year old’s opinion, not as sad as long shorts. But you guys, plot twist of all plot twists, the girl who got fourth place left early, so I GOT HER TROPHY, which I displayed on my bookcase and bragged about for years. 

The only point to this anecdote is that the bar for what makes me proud is VERY low, I was apparently snobby about shorts in 1994, and Trophy Moms like me are a danger to society, but also fun at parties because we will tell you how great you are over and over again.

HERE IS AN INVISIBLE TROPHY FOR READING THIS. You have done an incredible thing today. Congratulations.