I found out about a small rock climbing gym a few months back that is literally right across the street from my parents house. It’s been there for years, I really wish I would’ve known about it when I was in high school. I’ve always called Rena my monkey because of the way she climbs on everything so I figured it’d be a good fit, plus it’d burn off energy to get her to sleep easier.
We went climbing a few times near the end of last year and rented gear. We both really enjoyed it and she’s actually pretty good at it (for a kid, I’m still better.) So for Christmas, Santa Clause brought her her very own climbing shoes along with a chalk bag, chalk and a bag to carry everything in. She loves it, and I’m really glad that we’ve been able to bond through this.
And then Tuesday happened. Everything was going nice and normal; I picked her up from pre-school and told her we were going to go climbing. She was pumped. We get home and she can’t find her work out pants that she likes to wear when we climb. Of course, she starts throwing a fit. I suggest wearing a pair of sweatpants, they will work just fine, right? No, apparently they will not. Her fit continues. So then, like any good dad, I start mocking her. Much to my surprise, it didn’t help the situation at all. Go figure.
I finally find the pants, Hallelujah I finally found the pants! Ok, so crisis averted. Negative. She puts on her running shoes that my mom got her for Christmas and says she’s ready. I inform her that she’s forgetting her bag and her climbing shoes. The fit begins again, because she’d rather wear her running shoes. Again, mocking her doesn’t work. I let her know that Santa didn’t get her climbing shoes so that they could stay in the closet and that if she doesn’t appreciate what she’s given, then next year’s Christmas may not be as awesome. No dice, still pouting.
I finally convince her to get her bag, with her climbing shoes in it, and get in the car. It’s a three minute car ride to the gym, I can make it! She’s whining the entire time and right before we get there, my dad calls. I put him on the horn with her and I can hear him tell her that’s what climbing shoes are for. I can barely understand what she’s saying because she’s being so pitiful.
He gets off of the phone with her right as we’re pulling in to the parking lot, and I ask if she wants to race to the door. Finally, a victory. She does, I let her win and the shoes weren’t an issue for the rest of the night.
I guess, sometimes kids just cry. Go figure. I’ve just got to learn to not make such a big deal out of things and to pick my battles better. We survived, and had a blast like we always do climbing.