Being a "Wrestling Mom"

As I sat in the stands at the MHSAA Individual wrestling finals waiting for my son Sammy to receive his medal, I looked over to see the parent of another wrestler wearing a sweatshirt that read "I can't Keep Calm, I'm a Wrestler's Mom." That really hit the nail on the head for me. I've seen a lot of shirts and bumper stickers over the past 12 years that attempt to describe what it's like to be the mom of a wrestler, such as:
"Wrestling Mom" This one sounds like the mom actually wrestles her son or maybe other moms. That's definitely not me, although I've seen some who look like they could.

"The only thing tougher than a wrestler is his mom" I certainly don't feel tough, as I sit in the stands with my heart pounding out of my chest and my palms so sweaty I have to wipe them on my jeans.

"I can handle anything. I've watched my kid wrestle" I actually own this T-shirt, but every time I take it out to wear it I fold it up and put it back, because watching my son wrestle has not really ever made me feel like I can now handle "anything."

The truth of the matter is that wrestling is an extremely difficult, stressful, nerve-wracking sport to watch, especially at the high school level. Watching my little first, second, third grade son wrestle other cute little guys was fun. But when he's facing off in what they call the blood round, wanting more than anything to advance to the next level, and I can do nothing but hope and pray that he does it, the feeling of helplessness is incredibly stressful. That's my son on the mat, alone, with no teammates there to jump in and assist in what seems like the battle of his life, for those six minutes. I even have to admit that I've sat through many matches with my eyes closed because it was just too hard to watch.

Yet I love the sport of wrestling. It is a sport unlike any other. It builds, strength, stamina, endurance, determination, focus, and perseverance. I've been watching it since I was in high school and I'm sad that this chapter in my life is over. I want nothing more than to someday sit in The Palace again and watch my grandchildren compete in the state meet, wiping the sweat off of my palms and yelling stuff like, "Run it!" And "Settle back!" (Wrestling lingo for "Pin that kid already, will ya!"). I'll have the familiar knot in my stomach and will most likely be wearing a sweatshirt that says "I can't Keep Calm. I'm a wrestler's Grandma"

The One About the Yarn

I'll be the first to admit that I have a problem. In fact, if you are a regular reader of this column you'll recall that I admitted to my Chapstick dependence without hesitation. Actually this is one of those problems that I've been able to keep somewhat under control because of limited space and my cats. The problem I'm talking about is my yarn collection. It starts innocently enough. I find a cute pattern on Pinterest or see something that I think I can make. So I walk the aisles looking for just the right yarn. I will find what I'm looking for but wait, what's this? A new soft multi-colored, self-striping yarn that would make the cutest infinity scarf! Before I know it I have an armload of yarn and a head full of ideas. Like I said earlier, my problem with buying all of that yarn I want is a lack of places to put it all that's out of reach of my cats, who love nothing more than to destroy a full skein and leave it all over the living room. So I have my yarn carefully tucked away here and there throughout the house. I also have a problem with good intentions. Thinking that yarn I just bought would make something cute and actually making that cute item are two completely different things. If you were to come and ask me about my inventory of yarn I would be able to tell you exactly what I plan to make with it "someday." And yet the yarn keeps coming. My friend recently posted on Facebook that she had acquired a large quantity of yarn and was looking to get rid of it. "I'll be right over!" I messaged within minutes of seeing the post. By the time I had gotten there, she had taken out what she wanted and had given some away but still had enough leftover to make blankets for the entire population of the U.P. Now that's what I call a problem! I, of course, had to help her out by taking two large bags of yarn off her hands. I honestly come by this naturally. My Aunt Bonnie has a bonus room filled wall to wall, floor to ceiling with fabric. My mom has an entire walk-in closet devoted to her fabric collection. So really, if you put it into perspective, all I have is one Tupperware box, a small cardboard box and three large bags of yarn which comparatively, is almost no yarn at all. And I currently only have 3 unfinished projects going. So as I said, I'll be the first one to admit that I have a problem and if that problem develops, I'll let you know.