But I don't want to go. It's cold. And boring!

Ah, gymnastics competition day.

He missed the round robin one where they compete a couple of times a year against other clubs. This nearly caused my Inner Mummy to explode – I’m not really into those sorts of comps at his age, but is he missing out on something, and isn’t it a great way to teach him striving towards a goal, but do they need this much pressure and can’t gymnastics create eating disorders and if he doesn’t do it, he’ll be left behind, and, also, it’s teaching him he can just opt out of anything without trying, and … and …. and …

KaBOOOOOOM!

So I encouraged … made … forced … depends on who’s perspective you take … him to do the one with just his club. And did the “It’s a great way for you to focus on some specific things, like form and technique and not getting into farting competitions with the rest of your class” talk. Followed by the “No, it’s just competing against yourself, to see how you’ve improved. Not against the rest of the class” which we all know is a big fat lie, whichever way you word it.

This morning started as expected, him lying in bed pretending to be asleep, me going in all good mother and calm and empathetic and encouraging, him still pretending to sleep, me licking his face, him wrapping himself in doona and mumbling things about not wanting to go, me being more empathetic before losing it and implementing some tough love along the lines of “I need new shoes but had to pay for your competition and you’re about to lose all your lego” which caused him to have a dimlemma about which was the worse option (going to comp or no lego), had more stern words, then pandered to his negotiating side and told him if he went and did a really, extra awesome job, he’d get some Lego.

Suddenly, he bounced out of bed, ate breakky and went the competition without any further discussion. None with him, at least.

That out of the way, my brain was freed up to fully apprecaite the impact of what I’d done. Three hours of sitting in a cold ex-factory, watching a heap of 8-13 year olds doing gymnastics. I was more distraught to hear the level 7 boys (in their late teens and really good) weren’t there today. No fair.

The younger kids can’t do much in the way of spectacular. Or even remotely good. So not only was I cold, I was also bored. Thankfully, Grumpy was reading some 8 month out of date mags and missed everything, including 13 month old Chippie stealing balls of 18 month old kids and throwing them into the bucket of water under the water dispenser, while I filmed and photographed Monkey Boy’s 12 second routines (which Grumpy also missed) then waited 15 minutes, watching similarly skilled children to variations of the same routine.

There wasn’t even any falling off high bars, running into vaults or stopping-falls-with-genitals to keep me amused.

Thankfully, he’s gone up a level. So that, at least, will be mildly more interesting. But I have to wait till next year for that.

I don’t want to wait. I want it NOW!

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