Lacing Up the Begging Shoes

There’s this part of me that is bursting with pride that two of my kids did so well in this past weekend’s national climbing competition. The other part is wondering why they couldn’t be lazy, good-for-nothing teenagers like everyone else. It’s not that I don’t want them to be in shape, learn the great lessons provided by competition and training and all that jazz. In fact, it has a lot more with me wanting to be a lazy, good-for-nothing parent.

It was such a mixed bag of feelings this morning when I received the following messages:

A text from my son: I made it to Continentals (and no, he wasn’t bragging that he’d tumbled out of bed at the hotel before they shut down the free buffet).

An email from my husband: Looks like Jonathon is next in line for an invite to World’s (one could only wish he meant Disney, as in Florida).

Seems one kid earned an invitation to the Continental rock climbing competition (click on the title above to see their website) to be held in December in Montreal and the other barely missed an invite, so if someone can’t make it we could have both of them competing in Continentals. And if one of the US Team members can’t make it to the world competition in Australia, my son will receive the invitation.

How amazing is that? And how scary. Instead of a few stolen moments of relaxing on the deck working on my novel, it looks like we’re going to be organizing team car washes, bake sales, and kid-for-hire fundraisers. I like to bake brownies as much as the next guy, but I can’t imagine how many brownies I’m going to have to sell to get all the way to Australia.

The part of me that is so proud of my kids will be at the airport tonight when their flight comes in; I’ll be full of hugs, smiles, and praise. But inside, I’ll be quaking in my shoes and running around in circles screaming in a high-pitched wail.

It’ll be a marathon of fund raisers, but if my kids can pull off a performance like that, then certainly I can lace on my begging shoes and help them on to their next big competition.

Next year, though, I’m scheduling some time to be that lazy, good-for-nothing parent. Maybe I’ll sign up for the Maui Writer’s Conference and stay a week on the island hobnobbing with some of the elite who congregate there. I wonder how may brownies that’ll take.

Published by Lisa Abeyta

Entrepreneur and passionate foodie.

5 thoughts on “Lacing Up the Begging Shoes

  1. Sometimes disappointment is also coupled with relief. The boy who needed surgery has opted to wait until after World’s, so my son did not get an invitation. A bit disappointed, he also seems relieved to know that the rope season is finally over for him and it’s now “down time”.And now I don’t have to worry about baking like a fiend. So all’s well that ends well.


  2. Lisa,You might give the Isotopes Park a ring, see if they still have fundraising opportunities. And, I know most climbers are cheapskate hippie types, but I bet if the gym owner would let you put a can at the desk, you’d get a few bucks there.The kids have done great. Congratulations to you and your husband for your parts in making them the talented and hardworking people they obviously are!


  3. This is so great! You are very blessed, I also understand the other side. I have had the pleasure of more then one of the normal kind of teenager, with a couple that tended to be a little too involved in the court system. I have the utmost confidence in you I only wander that you will be able to find enough supplies for all that brownie making.


  4. Thanks for visiting, Linda! I’ll be first on the bus to Maui … oh, wait, that won’t work. Boat. Let’s go by boat. That’ll take longer than by plane.


  5. AH yes, the writing mom’s life… full of contradictions. Perhaps we should herd a bunch of us and head for Maui – though I suspect the families would wish to tag along…Congrats on your kids’ achievements. I remember the first time I ‘met’ you was in the forums waxing about writing in a hotel room while your youngest was jumping on the bed. Nice blog, I’ll be adding you to mine. Peace, Linda


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