Confessions of a Wimpy Mom
At the library where I work, I have noticed a series of books that have become quite popular with the middle school aged kids (especially the boys!). The books in the "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" series written by Jeff Kinney have been on a lengthy request list for some time now.
It makes me smile to see a kid's face light up when I hand him a book from this series. More often than not, he has been waiting for the book for a while because it is so popular, and it has been requested by so many other kids just like him. It always does me good to see kids who are enthusiastic about reading, especially at that age, and especially boys, who often seem less interested in reading than girls. There are currently four books out in the series and a movie based on the series is in the works and is scheduled to be released April 2, 2010. Here's a trailer for the upcoming movie.
One interesting fact about the first book in the series is that it was originally published in the form of daily entries on the website, Funbrain.com. You can read it here if you are interested. The many fans of this series are attracted to the unique humor in the book and to the format, which is described as a "novel in cartoons."
Anyway, I was thinking about that children's book series last night as I was sitting in the bleachers at the high school gym watching my son's high school wrestling team tournament. Seated a few rows below me in the stands was a mom wearing a sweatshirt that said, "The only thing tougher than a wrestler is a wrestler's Mom." across the back of it. I could never wear a sweatshirt like that because, well, in my case, it simply is not true. It would be a boldfaced lie if I wore a shirt like that. I must confess I am a wimpy mom.
My sons aren't wimpy. They don't seem to be afraid of much of anything. They are strapping, rough and tumble lads that aren't afraid of a challenge. Both sons have been playing sports since they were four or five years old starting out with T-ball and pee wee soccer leagues. They played little league baseball down through the years, one played football, one ran on the cross-country team, both boys participate in track now--one is a pole vaulter in college, the other is a discus and shot put thrower in high school, and one is on the wrestling team now, as I have mentioned.
They have both given their all for the teams they have played for. They have trained and conditioned and practiced in all kinds of weather and conditions. They have played even when they were exhausted, sick, or injured.It's the injuries that get to me. The injuries are what make me a wimpy mom.
It bothers me when I am watching kids play sports and one of them gets injured there in front of me. It bothers me a lot---A LOT! My kids have had their share of injuries from the sports they have played. Some of the injuries required stitches or trips to the emergency room or to the dentist or several weeks of physical therapy to help them heal. Perhaps it is those injuries of the past that have turned me into the wimpy mom I am today. I've seen them get hurt. I don't want to see them get hurt again.
So, I'm sitting at the wrestling meet, and my son lets me know that he just found out from his coach that he won't be wrestling that day. There are several boys in his weight class and only so many slots to fill. Since he is a freshman, he will be sitting it out this time around for the tournament. I can't say that I am disappointed that he won't be wrestling. I try to support my sons in what they want to do and help them toward their goals, but I am relieved that he won't be wrestling because I cringe and flinch my way through every match that he has as it is.
The injury count for this tournament is three: two bloody noses and one pulled thigh muscle. The two noses are from boys on my son's team, the thigh muscle belongs to a member of the opposing team. Not that it really matters. I cringe no matter who it is that gets hurt in front of me. One of the bloody noses is an instant gusher getting blood all over not only the injured boy, but also on his opponent andon the wrestling mats. While the team doctor and coaches tend to the injured boy, others wearing rubber gloves move out to the floor with spray cleaners and towels to clean up the spilled blood. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the bleachers thinking about the fact that it cost money for me to come into this gym just so I could sit and watch this blood bath that I don't want to see.
My older son still has two more years of college, which I am guessing will mean two more years of pole vaulting for him. The younger son still has the rest of wrestling season to get through plus track season for this school year. Then he has three more years of high school sports after that. I don't know if he will play sports in college. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it if it appears.
In the meantime, I guess I will just have to continue to hold my breath and cover my eyes and wince and duck while I watch my sons try their best to be the best they can at their sports. I love my boys, and I want them to be happy. For them, part of being happy means participating in sports. So I will be there cheering them on, applauding their wins, and hoping their dreams will come true. I don't have to like it, and I'm absolutely certain I am going to continue to be a wimpy mom, but I'll be there.
Anyway, I was thinking about that children's book series last night as I was sitting in the bleachers at the high school gym watching my son's high school wrestling team tournament. Seated a few rows below me in the stands was a mom wearing a sweatshirt that said, "The only thing tougher than a wrestler is a wrestler's Mom." across the back of it. I could never wear a sweatshirt like that because, well, in my case, it simply is not true. It would be a boldfaced lie if I wore a shirt like that. I must confess I am a wimpy mom.
My sons aren't wimpy. They don't seem to be afraid of much of anything. They are strapping, rough and tumble lads that aren't afraid of a challenge. Both sons have been playing sports since they were four or five years old starting out with T-ball and pee wee soccer leagues. They played little league baseball down through the years, one played football, one ran on the cross-country team, both boys participate in track now--one is a pole vaulter in college, the other is a discus and shot put thrower in high school, and one is on the wrestling team now, as I have mentioned.
They have both given their all for the teams they have played for. They have trained and conditioned and practiced in all kinds of weather and conditions. They have played even when they were exhausted, sick, or injured.It's the injuries that get to me. The injuries are what make me a wimpy mom.
It bothers me when I am watching kids play sports and one of them gets injured there in front of me. It bothers me a lot---A LOT! My kids have had their share of injuries from the sports they have played. Some of the injuries required stitches or trips to the emergency room or to the dentist or several weeks of physical therapy to help them heal. Perhaps it is those injuries of the past that have turned me into the wimpy mom I am today. I've seen them get hurt. I don't want to see them get hurt again.
So, I'm sitting at the wrestling meet, and my son lets me know that he just found out from his coach that he won't be wrestling that day. There are several boys in his weight class and only so many slots to fill. Since he is a freshman, he will be sitting it out this time around for the tournament. I can't say that I am disappointed that he won't be wrestling. I try to support my sons in what they want to do and help them toward their goals, but I am relieved that he won't be wrestling because I cringe and flinch my way through every match that he has as it is.
The injury count for this tournament is three: two bloody noses and one pulled thigh muscle. The two noses are from boys on my son's team, the thigh muscle belongs to a member of the opposing team. Not that it really matters. I cringe no matter who it is that gets hurt in front of me. One of the bloody noses is an instant gusher getting blood all over not only the injured boy, but also on his opponent andon the wrestling mats. While the team doctor and coaches tend to the injured boy, others wearing rubber gloves move out to the floor with spray cleaners and towels to clean up the spilled blood. Meanwhile, I'm sitting in the bleachers thinking about the fact that it cost money for me to come into this gym just so I could sit and watch this blood bath that I don't want to see.
My older son still has two more years of college, which I am guessing will mean two more years of pole vaulting for him. The younger son still has the rest of wrestling season to get through plus track season for this school year. Then he has three more years of high school sports after that. I don't know if he will play sports in college. I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it if it appears.
In the meantime, I guess I will just have to continue to hold my breath and cover my eyes and wince and duck while I watch my sons try their best to be the best they can at their sports. I love my boys, and I want them to be happy. For them, part of being happy means participating in sports. So I will be there cheering them on, applauding their wins, and hoping their dreams will come true. I don't have to like it, and I'm absolutely certain I am going to continue to be a wimpy mom, but I'll be there.
