Well, it’s wrestling season and my youngest is crazy, so I have to share another sport/mom moment. Let me just preface this by saying it’s really hard for me to watch my children wrestle. There’s always an anxiousness that grips my muscles every time they go out on the mat. I often feel like I’ve been in a car accident when I slip into bed after a tournament. Always stuck in the bleachers, I can’t help but yell the few moves I do know. I’m the mom—I want to help them succeed. And this is really the only thing I can do for them. Well, my ungrateful little redhead didn’t see it that way this last weekend.

He tore through the tournament, beating the first three opponents he faced off against with ease. Then we come to number four. This one’s fairly matched in technic and strength with my son. It’s a tight match, so my yelling increases. It’s not like a make a conscious choice—it’s a gut reaction to the building stress inside me.

My son, in the middle of a move looks up at me and yells, “Be quiet.”

“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” says Dad, who is coaching mat side.

This back and forth between my son and husband goes on for most of the third period. At one point my son gets rolled and yet he keeps talking to my husband about how I’m distracting. I’m distracting? How in the world are you wrestling and talking at the same time?

That little booger ends up winning by points anyway. His antics left everyone in the crowd around me laughing. I was not amused. So much for karma showing my son how powerful a cheering mom is.