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"

My Life in the Stands

This one was written in early March. It didn't make the paper. Enjoy!

It's Friday night and I have done the grocery shopping. Now the weekend is mine, I tell myself. But not so fast. Don't forget that the laundry needs to be done, we are volunteering at a youth wrestling tournament on Saturday and there's church and a play I want to attend on Sunday. Oh, and remember the stack of papers that need to be corrected and the lesson plans that still aren't finished. Since Early December our Saturdays have been spent in the bleachers at various varsity wrestling tournaments throughout northern Michigan. With my son making it all all the way to States this year we tacked on 3 more weeks to the season. Don't get me wrong. I love the sport of wrestling and I especially love supporting my son and his athletics. I enjoy supporting both boys in whatever they choose to do whether it's Sammy's sports or Robby's music and ministry. However, spending 8 hours sitting in bleachers after a two hour drive can test even the most dedicated parent. I always take a little ditty bag of stuff to keep me busy. I have even taken to letting school work pile up so I could take it with me on Saturdays. Even the excitement of the state tournament at The Palace of Auburn Hills quickly wore off as we stayed in the stands for the familiar 8 hour stretch. I have to keep reminding myself that we only have one more year and then it will be over. I do know there are parents who can completely relate when I utter that tiny prayer "Lord, please let this be the blizzard that calls off the tournament just this one Saturday." I understand that swim meets and volleyball tournaments can be just as brutal on the lower back and posterior. I really don't remember my butt hurting that much when the boys were younger. Maybe I just had more padding back then or the cartilage hadn't yet begun to break down in my hips. But besides the pain and discomfort of bleachers, Saturday tournaments reduce my weekends to the 5 hours after church on Sundays to get everything done that I can't do during the week. As much as I would like to say that everyone willingly pitches in, let's be real. Most of it falls on me. Fortunately another wrestling season is behind us and I am looking forward to a weekend of rest and relaxation. It just won't be this weekend.