A good friend said one morning after we returned from traveling to the other side of Pennsylvania, “Well, that’s a lot of travel for gymnastics competitions and I’m not sure I’d want to do it.” Yes, I agreed, it sure is a lot. And it’s particularly awful when you have a 7:45 check-in time on the morning of spring daylight savings time change! Given where we live, this sport does require quite a bit of travel. And yes, it does get expensive.
As we talked, I wondered about when you are single parenting three boys, how do I make decisions about the limited resource of money? After all, there was a recent new roof to be put on the house. The Little Guy needed an expander for braces. And there’s other sports and activities. On top of that, these boys seem to be constantly hungry and want food!! It made me reflect a bit about whether gymnastics is worth the time and money I put into it for this Little Guy.
On the surface, I kid with people that he’s in gymnastics because if he was home those two evenings a week and on Saturday mornings, he’d be stuck on a screen. At least for seven and a half hours a week, I’m not spending a lot of negative energy trying to get him off a screen. And I joke that when people tell me, “Don’t let your kids play ice hockey – it’s too expensive,” I reply, “Have you tried competitive gymnastics?”
So for me, here’s why I sink time and money and energy into this sport.
Strength. You should see the muscles on this little man. 
A fellow gymnastic mother lamented the other day that her 6-year-old son’s cute little baby belly had flattened into a strong six-pack. I agreed it was surprising to see the definition form. The Little Guy’s six-pack and biceps are the envy of his 11-year-old brother and all the kids in the neighborhood. And, this physical strength has done him well. The summer after his first competition season, The Little Guy became an amazingly fast swimmer on the little community swim league. He had perfect form. His arms motored him from one end of the pool to the other without effort. His body is toned, his coordination is extraordinary, and he’s able to easily pick up other athletic skills.
Power. More than the physical strength, though, this Little Guy has developed an amazing emotional strength and confidence. Mind you, he already exuded far more confidence than you’d expect out of a tiny human being, but he has honed that into a confidence that explodes when he walks into a room. A few weeks ago, he decided to do a “dance” for the school talent show. He didn’t practice at all. He didn’t see the need. He walked onto the stage and did whatever dance moves came to him. He has developed an inner power that makes him invincible.
Determination. There’s one thing that hours and hours of practice promote and that is a strong sense of determination and independence. The gymnasts are taught a certain skill and expected to work on it on their own. They are given a routine and are expected to practice it until they have it down perfectly. They are expected to remember how many swings to do before doing a release move on the high bar. They must remember to hold their legs exactly 90 degrees straight out in front of their body while hanging perfectly still from rings suspended in the air and not forget to point their toes. Not only is their brain remembering all this, their muscles are remembering all this and their bodies are aching. At one point toward the end of last season’s competition, the Little Guy had “rips” (torn skin in the palm of his hands that start with a blister and can tear open and bleed). Nonetheless, he wrapped sports tape around his hands and competed through the pain. At the age of seven. Pushing through difficulty, showing up, controlling his impulses, representing his team, trying his best. There are tremendous life lessons that he’s working through.
The thing is, I realize that his competitions also pull at my competitive nature. I start feeling frustrated and disappointed that he’s not “doing better” or “getting a better score” or remembering to point the toes. I have to step back and remember that there’s very few…very very few….8-year-old boys who can do this at all and who are willing to make this commitment. In truth, he is utterly and entirely amazing as are all the gymnasts.
So, I try not to think of the money. I try not to be tired of driving back and forth. I try to decide what is best for my boys. For now, gymnastics is nurturing and shaping this amazing little 8-year-old. For now this hard work and learning from tough coaches is important for him. For now, the comaraderie of his teammates and the great group of parents is an important part of our family life. He might not continue after this season. We’re on break right now due to the coronavirus (and he was sad Saturday morning when I told him gymnastics was cancelled even though he’s usually begging to “skip” a practice). And he’ll take a break over the summer to give his brain and body a rest. But I sure will support him if he wants to continue. And we’ll keep using those long drives to competitions as opportunities to explore our region (visiting Gettysburg and Philadelphia have been quite fun!) and to bond as a family.
For now this sport is worth it. We all know life changes rapidly!
I sat him back down in the family room and Mr. Ornery and I carried in a large box brimming with gifts. The smile returned to The Little Guy’s face. Hope returned to the Little Guy’s heart.
He started off with the ones that I had asked him to write to the people who had given him gifts. And then a beautiful thing happened. His gratitude grew. Next he wrote a note to his grandparents to express his sadness that their car had been broken into but that he was hoping they would have a good new year. Then he moved on to writing a note to every teacher he comes into contact with over the course of the week. And he finished up with a thank-you to the principal and the assistant principal with gratefulness for their kind hearts in keeping all the students safe.
I leaned over to kiss his head and said, “Isn’t it kind of cool that when you start writing thank-you notes, you really start feeling grateful for what you have and experience.” It was a beautiful moment of sensing and supporting his heart and I hope he and I – and all the boys – will continue to grow in gratefulness this New Year.
So, after the front room carpet was torn up the night I moved in; after the hardwood floors were stained on Christmas afternoon; and after the “wood room” served as Mr. Ornery’s crafting, building and storage room for months, I was thrilled to clean it up to get ready for the delivery of a dining room table a few days before Thanksgiving. My brother and his family of ten and my local family totaling ten would be gathering around the table. Mr. Ornery and I counted out who were the eldest of the grandkids who would make the cut and win seats at the new “adult” table whilst the others would be at the folding tables down the middle of the kitchen. I ordered a ten-foot Thanksgiving table cloth and my friend suggested an idea her family does of stenciling on a turkey every year with people signing their names around it. I was thrilled.
and folding chairs and lots of people and plates tipping off the too-narrow tables and good food and okay wine and lots of noise and Nerf darts everywhere and high-stakes games of UNO and Bananagrams. Because it turns out that celebrating family and celebrating what we’re most thankful for didn’t require the perfect dining room table at all. The gift of welcoming people just involved opening the door.
had tripped over his own two feet while spinning around our kitchen floor and hit his chin off the countertop. Because that’s what he told me. And that’s what he told the babysitter when he came downstairs with paper towels pressed to his face and soaked in blood. And that’s what he told the doctor at the emergency department when we got there for SEVEN stitches on the night I turned around just as I was parking to hear Ibram X. Kendi speak (you know, after purchasing the tickets months ago!). And that’s what he told his aunt and grandmother and all his friends and teachers at school.
And now this? He already wrote “I will only speak the truth” one hundred times, but since that didn’t help, he’s working on his second set of 200 lines. Other than church, school, gymnastics and meals (can’t break the no-food-upstairs rule!), he’s now isolated to his bedroom one day for each person he lied to….and Mommy counts for two days at least. This evening he mumbled, “Well, I’ve finished the two days for Mommy, so today is for Mrs. S.” (his third grade teacher). Yes, we will just name the days now of which victim is sponsoring his quarantine.
However, I also expect that if my neighbors have trouble with my children, they should find the parent and address the situation. I never expected to be called out on social media with “parents are not raising children with respect of others” when this individual has never ever met me. She does not know how hard I work to instill respect. She doesn’t know how many times I yell, punish, and reprimand the boys. She does not know that I work tirelessly to help other parents in this most challenging work, that I’m committed to the philosophy that it takes a village to raise a child and that we should all be helping each other.
baked fresh chocolate-chip zucchini bread (zucchini from my next door neighbor’s garden) and took my little Cavadoodle on a walk up to the “richer” part of the neighborhood. Ringing the door bell, I waited as the inside dogs quieted down as the door opened. “Hello,” I said, “I’m the mom of the boys who were so disturbing to you this week. I just wanted to apologize that they appeared disrespectful to you. I can assure you that I’ve spoken to them numerous times about respect and staying off people’s property unless they have permission, but they are still young and they are still learning. I asked them to write an apology card for you. My contact information is inside in case you should ever need to reach me. But I do worry that you put their photos up online without my permission. It’s just not safe.” Pretty sure my neighbor had absolutely no idea what to say. She babbled, shocked. “I never expected you to do all this…(babble, babble)… I can tell that you are raising them well with all this effort you went through.”
where the boys clambered around Cucumber Falls and experienced the thrill of jumping off a rock that juts about 12 feet out of the water and you can go deep into “just the right spot” about 2-3 feet away from the rock. This year they were so eager to go back that we even bought a cucumber to take along with us and hide in the rocks for others to find.
Remembering that last year, we had hiked to the right of the tributary and came out to the jumping rock, the boys set off scrambling over rocks as my mom (age 78, by the way) and I hurried to keep up. Something in my head wondered if there wasn’t an actual “trail” that we followed last year….and don’t trails usually have markers on the trees or the rocks?….but the thought slipped in the need to keep up with the adventurers. After 20 or 30 minutes however, I realized that we weren’t coming to any trail and the rocks were getting larger and more difficult to climb over.
I was stressed that my mom would tumble and break a hip or a head. I worried that one of the kids would get hurt as I watched them crawl under a fallen tree. Just at my peak stress about safety, my nephew let out a blood-curdling scream as a bee stung his cheek. This resulted in me squeezing under the tree, hugging him and talking down my 10-year-old who was hyperventilating with a fear of bees now. This was a bad idea, I kept screaming in my head. The kids were exhausted and hungry. There was no path ahead. My mom didn’t want to jump in the raft of the “first aid” rafter who had floated nearby a little bit earlier. I just didn’t know what would be best to do.
Clearing out some emails tonight, I saw the subject of one reading, “Seniors in Isolation Need Your Help.” My first thought was, gosh, really, when you think about it, everybody needs my help. The kids crying and traumatized in concentration (I mean, detention) camps need my help. Isolated senior citizens need my help. Whales swallowing plastic need my help. The neighbor down the street whose basement was flooded last week needs my help. A friend starting to acknowledge the severity of her ailing mother needs my help. And by golly, these crazy boys living in my house sure do need a LOT more help curbing their misdirected urine, intense energy and spontaneous life-threatening poor decisions.
the next leg of the relay and to my running buddy, I headed over to the river to soak in the majestic views offered by the city despite a gray and foggy sky. Along the way, I politely offered to push buttons on cell phones to convert people’s “selfies” into “real” photos as I feel it gives a much better perspective (I’m a bit snobbish that way!).
the river and pointing out that you could see the runners on the other side. Having politely asked the mother of a two-year-old little boy (who was definitely “not” going to get close to Fred!) to take my picture beside him, I wandered back to the race course. There was the runner who had ended his conversation. We remarked politely as to how the weather had cooperated and the rain had ended. We wondered how we’d “politely” cross the course to get to where we had parked. And then we began talking about the charities that we had run for to raise funds. I explained the work of 
from Guatemala and now from Rwanda (through 
middleofthemadness 