Sunday, May 22, 2011

And then I got to be Mom

After a night where I was a hair shy of dropping headset and storming to the ice to demand where my kid was, I got to be Just Mom.

Saturday night was great. Everyone was skating well, the house was responsive (if loud) and the kids were watching from my side of the house. All good. From where I was, I could see the kids heading in from the dressing room to the ice. Every night, I had seen Stitch heading into the rink and I was reassured that things were fine and proceeding normally. Not Saturday. Saturday I saw two boys heading back. No Stitch.

The Parental Mind has this amazing habit of creating the absolute worst case scenario in the event that a child, their child, is missing for more than five seconds. My mind is no exception. Not only was Stitch not on the ice, he was surely curled in a corner of the dressing room, crying over a broken arm after being hit with twelve dodgeballs at the same time, his skate blades shattered, his eye bruised and no one comforting him because all the coaches were on the ice. This is where Stitch was, I was without a shadow of a doubt. Once my cue was done, I dropped headset and ran to the nearest momunteer, who seemed a Clueless, and asked, "There were three boys in the PreFree number, I only saw two. Where is the third?"
"Wha..." she blinked at me.
"Where there two, or were there three? Boys. Small boys. Specifically a towhaired kid."
"I don't know."
"Little boys. You saw them?"
"How many did you see?"
"Okay." I was out of time, and not reassured since there are three boys in the other Boy Number and this woman seemed confused. I sat on spotlight, ready to lose it if Stitch did not appear.

And he did. He came out and performed beautifully. He just slipped by me is all. Well, now I feel silly. The show ended without a hitch, Grandma and her companion bought him roses, Rink Pal gave him a stuffed bear, and all was right with the world.

Today, last show, Stitch and I walked to the Rink. He had a cupcake at the "Cast Party" or whatever, we hung out and I took pictures because I was Just Mom today. It felt good. Stitch would sit with me in the house for the first act, and then I would take him backstage to get him set up to go. He played in the gym/dressing room for awhile, with several girls flirting and playing with him. They'd run up to him, he'd tell them they were "a beauty to my eye," and they'd squeal and take off running, with Stitch chasing after yelling that he wanted to marry them. I took pictures.

We slipped in the back door with my badge and took some good seats. The LD told me I might have to cover spot for the first five minutes since a guy was running late, and this was fine. I put Stitch on headset and had him check in with the booth for me. He thought this was hilarious. I took more pictures.

The other Spot Op showed up and I got to relax. Stitch and I watched the skaters and I finally got to hear the lyrics and announcements and things. "See that one?" I pointed to the amazing young man doing triple jumps. "I hear he's going for the Olympics. I think he could do it."
Stitch nodded, rapt.
"But don't do the Death Drops he does, you're not allowed," I said.
"Why?" Stitch looks upset.
"Because it will give me a heart attack."
"Oh, I'll learn," he laughs at me.

We headed down before the Synchro girls went on, just to give me some extra time, and headed back to the dressing room. I put him in costume and skates, wished him luck, got a Diet Coke and headed back up. Act II was just as good, with The Boys performing their best program ever. They didn't drop the ball, literally. Stitch was hamming and even dragged out his lunge for added applause. I was proud of him, video'ing the whole thing.

When it ended I headed to get him, and Dad was already there. "What are you doing here," I was a bit surprised, as he was supposed to be home with the In-Laws.
"It's raining, thought you'd like a ride."
Stitch is looking upset. "I lost my blade guards!"
I took a quick look in the rink, only finding one that had been kicked under an ice door. "Sorry, Stitch," I handed it to him. "Give it a day or two and we'll check the office. Even if it doesn't turn up, we can get a new pair. It's okay."
"Stop." If this is the worst that happens during this show, we're blessed. Rink people, if you find a filthy red glitter guard that fits a 8 1/2" blade, put it in the office, please. (See why I shun $$LED$$ guards?)

And that's it. Spring Show is done. It's kind of anticlimactic, and Stitch seemed to be in the post-show/post-comp funk during dinner. We headed to the bookstore and I got him a Captain Underpants book for such a good run, which picked him up. As we were walking back to the car, he told me of his line up partner not listening to a Coach, who summarily put the Boy over his knee and spanked him. How much truth there is in this, I don't know, but it's still absolutely hilarious. This broke the Funk.

 I would get started on the jacket, but I'm tired and I need more time to get involved in it. I'm just glad it's all cut and ready to go. Tonight, I'll just relax some more, being Just Mom, thinking of the great kids at the rink. I'm proud that mine is one of them. Next stop... July!

Tomorrow we return to your regularly scheduled snark.

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