The Sorta Show Skater

"I can't skate," I warned Coach as we stepped on the ice. Two weeks of load in, hang and focus on top of my work and skating schedule was taking a serious toll. I was physically and mentally exhausted, bruised and hurting in a lot of places, and Tech Week was still to go. "This show is killing me."

"If you think you can't skate by your lesson time, just let me know," he seemed understanding. (He's a former show skater.) He went off to teach a little girl for the first half of the session, and I went to play around.

Well, the little girl was off and on the ice, being a little girl. And Coach happened to look my way right when I got bodily lost somewhere between an inside edge and a mohawk and took a fall. "I don't think we should skate today," he laughed.

"I'm fine, I can skate!" I popped right back up, completely unhurt but shaky from Tired. "I'm tough." I don't know who I was trying to convince, but he laughed at me.

I took it easy from there on out. Whatever happened, happened, and if it didn't I wasn't going to beat myself up about it. There simply wasn't any point in expecting too much out of myself this week. I let it go. Tech Week was either going to go smoothly or not, but I can only focus on one thing at a time.

Coach came back to me again when his student went to re-tie her skates. "Let's see those mohawks." I can't express enough how happy his ability to squeeze every second makes me. So we did Mohawks while little girl retied. And he made them a little better.

Little girl came back, and he went back to her. I started playing the music we're going to use for Ice Show, and I got excited. Yes, Ice Show is going to start revving up pretty much right after Tech Week, so I'm going to go from a Late-Night Theatre Schedule right into an Early Morning Skating Training schedule. And I mean hardcore. I'm being given the Solo of my Dreams, and I want this right.

Little Girl finally left, and Coach came back to me. We worked on Spins, Forward and Sit, and those are starting to come together. And then we worked on jumps. My salchow is much improved and it feels way better. Not so scary anymore, starting to become fun. We worked on Toe Loop, and while there's a lot of room for improvement, it's well on its way.

Then we came back to Half Loop, one we haven't looked at in awhile. I started to protest, given how tired I was, but when I protest anything Coach acts like I'm not speaking at all. Which is kinda funny, because I can see he hears me, he just doesn't respond. So I just went with it. If it happens, great. If not, okay. And surprisingly, it clicked this time. Coach held my hand for a few tries, and then I let go. "I think I got this," and then I did a small one by myself.

What happened next was utter insanity.

"Okay, now do a waltz jump, but land it with your free leg in front."
"Okay..." I did that.
"Do it again, and then go right into a half loop."
"What? No."
**No response.**
"Fine." I eke it through.
"Do that again...."
"Okay..." I stumble through it again.
"Now. Do the waltz, half loop, then swing right into a sal."
"That's crazy. You're crazy. No."
**No response.**
"This is crazy." And I had to give myself a little push to make it into the salchow, but the coordination was there. I just needed speed.
"And again,"

So we did it until the Zam chased us off, and I was having an utter ball by then. I really hope this sticks, because he said, "We can put this in your program." He knows how excited I am about this solo.

So, here's hoping I get my music this weekend, so I can start putting one show away (at least until strike) and start work on my next!

The Curse of The Mummy's Back Spin

Stitch has a really good spin. It's one of his strongest elements, which is good in that it is so good, but bad in that he often relies on that to save him in competition. (And it frequently works. Judges, please look at everything, not just one thing.)

It's also turning out to be bad in that he's so strong in his forward spin, that his Back Spin seems cursed. I watched them work on it for a solid ten agonizing minutes of complete trainwreck before moving on to something else. He and Coach had some kind of chat after all that was done, leaving me wondering what all that was about.

It was a good lesson overall, and a good practice. I was giving directions on the sidelines, Stitch kicking the boards when I took too long. At the end I gave him the eighty cents I could scrounge from my pocket. He came back with a Push Pop, which I knew cost more. "I didn't give you that much."
"The guy behind the counter took a dime from the tip jar to pay for it," Stitch explained.
I immediately got a dollar from my wallet. "Go put that in the tip jar!"
"WHAT?" Stitch's sense of justice is outraged. He wanted the dollar.
"When you work for tips, you'll understand. Now GO!"

I was getting ready to leave Coach a note, thinking she'd gone already, when out of the office she came. We settled business, and I said Stitch was on for Friday. This made her happy. "The back spin," she lamented. "He needs so much work with it."
"We'll get there. In the meantime, he'll be here Friday, but he's yours. The babysitter will be dropping him off and leaving him."

Coach was fine with this, and in fact, this is something she's offered to do for awhile.

"I'll be here as soon as I can be," I continued. "But hopefully this will help that spin a bit."

She agreed and we went our separate ways. I had some other people to speak to about Friday, but I was confident things would be just fine. With a little "looking out for", Stitch would be fine on his own at the rink.

We picked up some frozen Chinese food on the way home, as both of us were famished, and as we walked by the bakery case I noted the fancy cakes and pies.
"Stitch, let's make a deal."
"What?"
"When you get that Back Spin, I'll buy you whatever cake you want out of that case, and I'll let you eat it whole with a fork."

Stitch was intrigued by this notion, gravitating towards some strawberry lemon affair. We pinky swore on it, and went home.

"What were you and Coach talking about out there?" I aske casually. I didn't really care, I was just curious.
"Oh, just Halloween. What we were going to be."
"Did you tell her about the Mummy Outfit?"
"Yeah, and I was praying the entire time she didn't say to just wrap me in toilet paper. She didn't."

One of the points in the USFSA book on how to be a skating parent is that one about "Sharing your child." I don't know why, but Coach asking about Halloween seemed like some kind of encroachment on my turf, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I know very well that Stitch skates a lot differently for Coach than he does for me, and I know he values her opinions, takes her more seriously, and the two of them have a vibe going on. Even as he's disciplining the cat in her accent, he respects her in a way he doesn't with me. I don't think "Sharing" is the right term. I don't know what is.

Yes, the Mummy outfit is complete. I blew through it in a day and it was an absolute blast to create. Using thin gauzy scraps from the remnants table, I basted on layer after layer of wrappings on the arms, legs and trunk. I did Greek Key decorative stitching around the arms, and while I know Greek is not Egyptian, it's Halloween and Dark, and if anyone challenges it I'm walking away.

Mommytime, I hear what you're saying about the bigger neck and armholes, but I think the size I cut is going to be fine, given that the fabric doesn't stretch. When I basted on the strips, I negated the stretch of the base fabric, so it mimicked a nonstretch fabric pretty well. Actually, the arms may need to be cut a hair larger, as The Mummy's arms are a bit snug. We're going to do a lot of fitting this weekend, just to be absolutely sure before I cut anything. Worse, I may need to learn how to do a buttoned cuff sleeve.

Stitch changed his mind on the music, but the design I have in mind will still work. I set my countdown clock today.

We're eighty days out. Plenty of time.

On an unrelated note, upon trying on his costume for the first time, he immediately began clinging to Dad, moaning and growling. Dad dragged him around, Stitch firmly affixed to his leg, and said, "Mummies don't hang on people!"
"The ones in Legend of Zelda do!" Stitch says defiantly.
It's true. Those Mummies in the Shadow Temple are freakin' terrifying.

Couple of thoughts...

So I had this keen idea for a fundraiser: Rent a follow spot at a public skate session, and sell one minute in the spotlight for one dollar. Five bucks? Five minutes! A two hour session could make at least $100 bucks. Have a parent donate the rental and it's gravy. I posited this to one of the Synchro Coaches tonight, and she seemed interested.

MsV and I actually had a lot of time to sit and talk last night. She told me how one of the skating families had dropped Coach, and used the excuse of "couldn't get the ice time we wanted" as an excuse. I found this funny, since I'd seen this mom ask about the ice time a full two weeks past the deadline, setting herself up for failure, but I said nothing. We talked about the boys, and how Gordon had loved the music I'd cut and used it for two comps. Apparently there was a comp over the summer I didn't know about.
"Can you do it again?" She asked.
"Sure."

Audacity isn't an Android product, but I put it on Stitch's laptop so I can still swing it. I have some weird vision of Maroon 5 for Stitch this year. We're on a Maroon 5 kick.   We'll see how he feels in January. Coach got us both after the lesson and said that the December comp was out and January was in. This is fine, as Dcember Comp falls right on Home Rink's Ice Show and the boys need some time. I couldn't help but notice that neither of the two comps Coach talked about were ISI. Both were USFS. But again, I'm doing a lot of shutting up lately, just listening and observing.

We went our separate ways, but we're back at the rink this morning of course. The put in lesson was just that, something I could swing but not every time. Saturday mornings are still best for now.

Stitch excited about tomorrow, as am I!

A Salvaged Practice

The are good days and bad days for Private Lessons. Not every one of them is a Golden "this is great" moment. Some of them feel like a waste of time, really. Either Coach doesn't seem to be feeling it, Kid isn't feeling it, things don't happen, everyone gets frustrated and a half hour seems like an eternity for all parties involved. I really thought last night was going to be one of those nights.

I've been having a rough week at work, I'm irritating the PTA by insisting that all kids at the school need access to the internet at home, and I'm trying a new tack on "Positive Discipline" with Stitch. All in all, a bottle of Red Rooster Merlot is in order. Imagine my disappointment when the skating lesson looked like a tossup in regards to good-bad.

Coach ran late, hijacked by another parent in the lobby, Stitch needed a lot of help in being told what to do, and I was trying to relax and let him own as much as possible. We've been talking about frustration, because the skating is getting really frustrating. The other kids seem to get it so fast, and perfectly, and Stitch sees this as a failure on his part. His way of coping with frustration by quitting has a name, "Assumed Incompetence." He thinks he can't, so why bother trying. The book I'm reading tells me to encourage every effort, no matter how small. That I can do. I also need to relate a similar experience with Stitch. Wow, do I have a shelf of those stories.

The previous night I'd told Stitch about a show I did in High School. Five member cast, among a Thespians pool of a hundred. Getting into this play meant something. I got in, but it was tough. And I had felt wounded that I didn't get the part I wanted, so the minor role I got felt like second place. The timing was tough, the blocking was tough, the flying shards of broken pottery was tough, and I got yelled at a lot. The Director was the gruff drama teacher. He loved to yell. From the back of the house we'd hear "WRONG! DO IT AGAIN!" The costumes were period, so we managed to out those on wrong the first few times out. We couldn't even dress ourselves, it seemed.
"When someone yells at you a lot," I said to Stitch. "It can seem like you can't do anything right."
"I know!"
"But you can, and you will. And Coach Y doesn't yell as much as my Mr D did, trust me."

But today we were working on the frustration. Stitch came back from a round of Salchows, his face tight. "Now what," he asked.
"Stitch, no tantrums on the ice. Look at yourself."
"What?"
"When you throw a tantrum on the ice, is your body loose or tight?"
"Tight."
"And when your body is tight, what happens?"
"I fall down."
"So, don't tighten up. Loosen up, accept the mistake and try again. It's okay."

Now, tantrum is a relative term. He doesn't fall and pound the ice like a toddler. He will stomp, pull his hair for comic relief and tense, tense, tense up. This is a big problem, because skating doesn't work in a tense body. And the talk seemed to work. He loosened up, his skating improved, (he even tried a backwards spiral with some success) and he cheered up in time for Coach to take him.

Coach had him work some jumps, and then started on a change foot spin. Folks, this looks hard. Real hard. But he watched the bigger student do hers, he patiently let Coach set his feet, and he tried his best. He wasn't anywhere near to getting it, but the important thing today is that he tried and he didn't tantrum in the process.

Coach came off the ice and did a long chat with me about the new skill, assuring me that he did really well, that this particular skill can take a long time to learn. I think I confused her with the response, "I don't care, he did fine. Better than fine. However long it takes is fine."

My next goal with Stitch is to stop seeing mistakes as personal failures, but rather as learning opportunities. Who was it that said, "if you aren't messing up, you aren't doing much of anything." The very act of living entails screwing up. The real challenge is learn from failure. (Admittedly, applying this to Spelling is hard.)

Coach was ready to hijack me into more practice ice, but the time falls right on a skating show in town. Yep, Stitch's man Jeremy Abbott is in town, so I sprung for tickets. Coach thought this was a great idea, but I was surprised to learn she didn't know about the show. Neither did anyone else I mentioned it to. Well, we're going, and Stitch wants to make a banner so Jeremy will see him.

Coach did know about a chance to skate with Ryan Bradley, and Stitch was suddenly terrified. "Of course I want to," he said in the car. "But I'm so shy!"
Shy? The kid who hams at every ice show and comp? Shy, are you kidding?

The More Things Change...

Last night, first night back at lessons. I skipped work a bit early, crashed through the apartment to grab the Zuca and flew to the nearby park where Stitch was playing with a friend and a neighbor. My addled neighbor was confused when I said, "I don't have time, I'll get the lunch bag later. I just need Stitch."
"But there's other stuff..."
"Later."

Stitch rolled his eyes and got in the car. He was in his skinny jeans. I hate those skinny jeans. Who makes skinny jeans for small boys? Evil people, that's who.
"Stitch, you can't wear those for skating."
"Why?"
"Because you can't move in them. It doesn't work." But it was also my fault because I hadn't packed a pair of skating pants in the Zuca. Well, it's our first day back, I figured we were allowed some leeway.

Stitch was ambivalent about lessons. Crabby, actually. In a perfect world, I would have given him a Public Ice session to play before having a lesson right off. The four day a week skating camp from June had nearly burned him out, and I had learned my lesson. There's only so much he can take. So, I assured him the lesson was just a half hour out of an hourlong practice ice and sent him on his way.

Coach arrived and greeted us, welcomed us back, and I took my place in the stands. I directed Stitch when he appeared aimless, and I could tell he was all out of sorts. His blades had some serious rust issues since the folks who had taken him skating didn't know to take the soakers off once home from the rink, and he just looked unsteady in general. Six weeks off the ice will do that. I know I'm not looking forward to my first session back. He was scared to do his bunny hops, actually, but he didn't fall.

There was practically no one at this ice. The monitor booth was empty. I had left the coupon on the CD player with the cryptic notebook (not before poking around through it first) and just went back down to direct Stitch. Coach came over and handed me a CD. "Can you play this? No one is up there," she seemed irritated.

The "eject" button was the most difficult part of that damn CD player. But I got it and played what seemed to be a Long Program for one of Coach's high level girls. Not bad. But the Ice Monger (inside joke) must have heard the music over the PA and suddenly appeared in the booth doorway. (Again, remember, the booth is SACRED TERRITORY.)
"What is going on?" she asked.
"Coach needed some music played."
"She needs to learn to wait."
"Uh huh."
"I mean, she can't just do that. She needs to learn to wait for me."
I know a meaningless territorial eyerolling argument when I hear one, so I just stood up. "Well, the CD is in there. So help yourself."
The Ice Monger settled her butt in the chair. "I'm not mad at you, of course," she kept on.
"Of course not, there's no reason to be."
"But she can't just do that, and she always does this. I'm mad at her."

Personally, I would love to see Coach eat this woman for breakfast, so if she decided to ever take it to Coach I would need to be sure my camera was charged. Ice time is valuable, Regionals is in October, and Coach doesn't have time to wait for this person to wind up her conversation about Montessori Preschools in the Lobby. Coach needs her kid's music played. Full stop. I walked away.

Coach finished up with the first girl and turned to Stitch. Now, bear in mind, the last time I saw a lesson was just before the July Open, which was dedicated to the competition. I didn't know what they were working on during those four weeks in June, but I had some notion that Coach might try to push Stitch through the FS2 paces just to keep him in step with the other kids in her stable.

I was right.

I saw a beginner Salchow and a sloppy run of a full rotation Flip. I only know these jumps because I know the order they're learned in, but he was doing them. Despite his unsteadiness in the first half hour, he was doing pretty well now. Not high jumps, barely getting off the ice actually, but he was trying. When he got frustrated, which was often, he jammed his hands in his pockets. That was bothering me more than anything. The pockets would have to go. And the skinny jeans were really screwing up his spiral, as I expected.

It seemed that all the skills he learned in early Summer would be quickly salvaged with a little ice time and some coaxing.

Coach came off the ice. She told me to register him for Freestyle 3, and that he could do everything in Freestyle 2. I'll have to verify that, and my push for actual testing begins anew. There are no competitions that I know of on the immediate horizon, so it may serve us well to not bother with programs and work on the jumps. Height, to be specific. Jumps, basics, getting his confidence on the ice back. And fight for a FS2 test, with the claim that he can't go through another round of three tests at once.

Coach tried to schedule another lesson, and I'll have to see. I'm putting in extra hours at the Old Theatre, and when I mentioned that, she gave me a sidelong look like I was crazy. Am I? Possibly. Working 8am to 10pm does, on the surface, sound nuts. (But when you walk into a theatre and smell that smell and love that space, it's not really work. It's stuff you enjoy doing that you happen to get paid for.) Coach will have to adapt even further to a Theatre Family. As of now, Wednesday Evenings and Saturday Mornings are sacred to skating for Fall, but I can promise nothing more. (Stitch may wind up doing homework in a 100 year old theatre lobby this year, and he's excited by this because I told him of the fact that it's haunted.)

She wanted him at a lesson at 8:15 with a few of her girls this morning, and at a clinic this afternoon if possible, but again, I remember Stitch being burned out nearly completely by daily lessons. I let that go. One Group Lesson and One Private Lesson per week, with a few hours practice in between, is all Stitch can do right now. It's okay.

Out in the lobby, Other Kid was right in my face. I didn't miss this one whit. "What level is Stitch going to be in?"
"Uh, Freestyle 3."
Stitch was rolling his eyes, anxious to get away. I pulled his skates off of him, threw him his shoes and told him to check the book racks for anything he liked.
Other Kid was undeterred. "What do you learn in freestyle 3?"
"I don't know." I knew.
Other Kid turned to his Coach. "Coach? What do you learn in Freestyle three? A sit spin?"
At that point my brain borked and I made a hasty exit. I bid goodbye to the office folk, again saying we'd missed them, and Stitch rode his Zuca out.

"I'm going to kill you," I shook my head.
Stitch just laughed.

But once home, I sewed the pockets of his skating jacket shut. He was so mad, he went to his room and shut the door.
"Stitch, I can tear this out at any time," I told him. "You can get your pockets back. But you can't have your hands in them on the ice."
He still didn't understand, but a few winning hands at poker cheered him up. (Pair of tens and pair of kings.)

Friday night is my first night back on the ice, and so while I see if my crossovers survived my sunburn I will coax Stitch to jump a bit higher, do three turns and get back into a routine. We can take those stairs together. It's three high flights to the upper balcony, so heaven knows there are plenty of stairs in the world for us.

About Practice Ice

For the first six months, I didn't even know about Practice Ice. When I learned about it, I thought it was tres cool but then learned of level divisions and felt shut out. I did Privates during Public Ice because that's all I thought I could get to. During the second six months, I was  buying coupons for those one-off days with Coach, because Coach made me familiar with what I really could get to, and the Practice Ice "open sesame" really happens with a Coach. Never having a real "set" schedule never bothered me, because as an Entertainment Family, we never really have a set schedule, either. I did have regular practice ice at Rink Across Town, and that was great.

Parents, I'm going to say a hard truth; After Beta, it's just not going to happen without regular practice. The ranks of PreStyle Skaters drop dramatically after Beta, with a Beta Class maybe at ten kids, and a Delta Class at two. Like Lucy (who spent two rounds in Gamma before quitting) and her mom (who blamed the two rounds on Lucy and the Coaches), people don't seem to get that there's two pieces of the skating pie that the Group Class Coach isn't responsible for; those are Practice and Individual Effort. Practice Ice has nothing to do with your "Competitiveness" or how much your kid is "into it," and doesn't mean you're gunning for a National Champion. Practice Ice is the simple notion that you can't learn to skate if you aren't on the ice. Do Public Ice, do Practice Ice, but Do Ice.

Now that I have that Rant out of me, I was debating which slot to buy for this session. I called Coach to ask her advice, but she only called me back when it was too late. Dad had deposited to forms which I left for him on the TV. I told her to go grab the form and pick the date she wanted. She told me that if I wanted to do ice on that other day, I didn't need to worry about registering for it, no one was on it anyway. I made a mental note for myself.

As I hung up, I realized that this was the first time she was heavily into my practice ice buying, which had been just "buy a coupon and figure it out later." She was also planning on making this our new lesson time. It had to be, Stitch was banished from Learn To Skate ice, which was why Saturday mornings fell out of the picture. That had never occurred to me. (I hated that old time anyway. Vehemently. Hated. I can say that now that it's over.)

I'm also remembering sitting in the stands, making small talk with Other Moms. It makes my skin crawl. Don't get me wrong, I like other people. I love to talk. But there's only so much talking about skating parents can do without edging into the Comparing Children territory which gets uncomfortable. Especially since Stitch will have dropped a level or two behind thanks to the Summer Hiatus. (I saw MiniFab grabbing her skate and bringing to her head level on Sunday and doing some weird Spin/jump thing. But then, MiniFab has the focus of a laser beam. I don't expect that from Gordon who has the attention span of a squirrel.) I don't know why we can't talk about something else. But, as it happens, I won't be in the stands this time. The Practice Ice session Coach wants falls smack during the Adult Class I want to take. HA!

I'm effectively gone tomorrow. I leave from work, on to my own Vacation. I'm reprinting the form and telling Dad to drop it off with a new Check. Instructions to Coach: Use if you need it, void and destroy if you don't. It's an act of trust, one of those acts I'm finding happen a lot at the rink.

If anyone has any thoughts as to any stretching or bodywork I can do while I'm gone, I'm all ears. Stitch and I can do it together on the beach. Primarily, Shoot the Duck. He needs to get his Shoot the Duck in order. It's the only directive I had from Coach over summer. Looks like I'm going to have to start listening to her.

So, I heard from Coach

She called me and left me a message about Practice Ice. She reminded me about the form deadline, and was telling me that Gordon's Mom wanted the boys to learn together again, on an afternoon that cuts too close to school. I can't swing it. There is a timeslot I can swing, but if I take classes on that same day, I'll have to plan a picnic dinner to eat in the lobby, as there is just a little more than an hour between the practice ice time and my class. This will take some creative scheming. He'll have to go to the rink right after school and be there until 8ish, first to skate and then do homework while I skate. As he's eight now, I'm going to have to start asking him to take care of himself more, grow up a little bit faster for me.

Yes, I carved out enough money in the budget for me to take a class. After trying to do backwards stroking a few times, I need some help. Hopefully I can whip my forward crossovers into shape enough to be declared Beta and get someone to make me go backwards. I'm trying to remember what all Alpha means, and if I can do it all. My Skating Parent Addled Mind only remembers the imperative of "crossovers" and forgets the nuances.

This is the first time she's spoken of Practice Ice to me, the first passive directive to buy it. Before, I just kind of winged it. Just something I noticed, since I'd seen other Coaches going over the ice schedules with their parents and I always felt like I was stabbing in the dark. I guess I was kinda jealous of Coach walking Ms V through the process while I just happened to guess correctly a hefty percentage of the time.

Coach also said she wanted him back "as soon as possible." I told her to call me at the office today so we can talk. I worry about getting too excited at this "package deal" and throwing him to the proverbial wolves. (Ten year olds have no business talking about restrictive diets, and I won't apologize for that opinion.) I had forgotten about the incredible lag time between the end of Summer Session and the beginning of Fall Session, but it's probably a good thing so Stitch can get his sea legs back and get back into the swing of a skating schedule. Also, the banner ad for Winter Show is up.

Coach says she misses him. I miss him, too. Last night after I talked to him, I had to excuse myself to go cry for a minute. This has been a hard summer. On Friday, I leave via train to meet up with The Boys, who will be already midway through our vacation state. We'll be there for about eight days, coming home on the 21st. (I'll see if the town coffee shop has WiFi so I can join Skatemom Chat Sunday night. I'm pretty positive they do.)

Fall can't come soon enough.

Yesterday I got to watch lessons that originally The Sitter was going to handle. It was a nice treat, since I typically like watching Practice Ice, and the cool rink was a nice respite from the heat wave.

I was putting Stitch in skates, and he kept taking off one and fiddling with it. "Stitch, what's wrong?"
"This thing inside is folding over. It hurts."
"Oh." So myself, Rink Pal, and an Ice Dance guy who happened to be nearby all fiddled with Stitch's skate and the problematic insole. The clock was ticking, and I had to turn in a coupon and music, so I finally just removed the insole entirely.
"How's that?" I asked.
"Much better," Stitch rolled his eyes. "These skates hurt my toes. I want new skates."
I frowned. "What do you mean? Are these skates getting too small?"
"Yes!"
"Stitch, I ask you all the time, 'how do your skates feel' and you always tell me they're fine. Now you say they're too small?"
"Yes! I need new skates!"
"I'll deal with this later. Go get on the ice, Coach is out there and so is Gordon."

I watched the boys learn a small step sequence and thought about this. The New Skate Fund is pretty healthy, the question is timing. Realistically, I can't get new skates just yet. My plan is to order new skates after the competition, we would wait for them while he's away and he can have them when he returns in August. I'll run this by Coach and ask for suggestions on what to get. In the meantime, I can just remove the insoles on these skates and make a little more room. (I learned after the lesson that one skate was already missing the insole.)

Coach seemed to be yelling a bit more than usual. Gordon was oblivious but Stitch was fighting back. I could see him whirling around after an attempt and throwing up his hands like, "what? Wasn't that good enough?" and Coach would come over and correct him. I have to give him credit for balls, but I need to talk to him about manners.

They ran their programs once, and Stitch tripped on a toepick, falling hard on a damn bunny hop of all things. He got up slowly, seemed to look for Coach to save him, but she just stood there. And Stitch kept going, finishing the program slowly and clearly painfully. At that point, Coach saved him, taking him to the boards where he relaxed for a bit.

It seems harsh, but it's necessary.

At the end of the lesson, Stitch was working on his kneel slide, finally parking his butt on the ice in frustration. Coach grabbed him by his skate blades and dragged him around, much to the boys' hilarity. The mood seemed much lifted after that, and she gave them some laps to race as the Ice Monitor kicked everyone out.

I was nursing a headache in the rink, so by the time lessons were done I was anxious to get out of the processed chill and back into some fresh air. Gordon and Stitch were once again hitting the vending machines, Stitch infecting Gordon with a love of all things automated. Coach told me she'd see us Sunday, and she'd take him if one of her Sunday crew didn't show. That's fine. She then began talking to Ms V about more ice, Ice for Moves, telling her that Gordon needed to skate more. I left. For some reason, I just didn't want to witness the hand-holding that day. They talked for a long time, while I just got Stitch to change clothes and put on real shoes.

I forgot to ask about advice on new skates.

In the car on the way home, I asked Stitch, "I saw Coach drag you around, that was pretty funny. What prompted that?"
"Oh, I was saying that I was a dummy and she did that."
"Why would you call yourself a dummy?"
"Because I couldn't do it right."
"So? That's why this is practice, and lessons, and learning. You're not a dummy, you're learning. It takes time to get it right."
"Ugh."
"Whatever."

We then talked about his field trip the next day, and everything seemed fine again. I let him play with the hose in the front yard for awhile, and thought about his apparent insecurity.

The end of the school year is when all their journals and notebooks and papers come home. In one of them, Stitch had written a list of what makes him happy. Right at the top was, "First place in Computishun," and "Trophys."

Stitch may not have the most expensive toys at the store, but I think the things that make him happy are a lot better than toys.

Reflections on Learn to Skate

I buzzed out of the office to take a peek at Stitch's Mealworm project, which he was desperate for me to see. Yes, there was one mealworm and one Beetle, just hatched from his Pupae stage. Gross.

Moving on, we headed to the rink for a put-in lesson with MiniFab and possibly Gordon. I like the semi-privates, the kids do really well together and it's cheaper. We got there and just MiniFab was getting skates on, so it would be just the two of them. I checked in with the Monitor and had a seat in the stands. MiniFab's mom isn't anti-social, she just doesn't like the cold, so she typically sits in the lobby.

I watched the kids, with MiniFab taking herself very seriously which is kind of breathtaking for someone her size and age, and Stitch being all Boy and blowing through things when he wasn't under Coach's laser beam. They were jumping and spinning and it's kind of fun to watch a practice ice session where everyone is going backwards. Those early days of forward swizzles seemed miles away.

Folks, I just want to say it outright: Having a kid in Basic Skills and/or L2S is not akin to having Herpes. It's okay. Anyone judging you or your kid based on your skater's level isn't someone you want to be around anyway, so whatever. There's a reason why I don't ask you what your skater's level is. It's because I see the uncomfortable squirm and quiet, "She's just in Beta." Just Beta? Hell, that's fantastic. Your kid is awesome. End of discussion.

The lesson ended with MiniFab and Stitch taking first tries at Sit Spins, with both of them catching on fast. MiniFab's mom was watching with me, and I asked if MiniFab was doing the July Open.

"Oh, no. She doesn't like that kind of thing."
My head exploded. "You don't understand... she would kill at competing."
"She just doesn't want to..."
"Those other girls wouldn't know what hit them!"
"She's the same way with violin. Loves to play, hates recitals. Her teacher has to convince her to do it, but I'm not going to do that here."
"Wow. That's too bad, but if that's her choice then that's what it is."
"Is your son doing it?" she asked.
"Yes, he likes to perform and compete. In fact, he does his best skating for an audience." I was kind of looking forward to see how he would ham things up next weekend.
"That's great. He seems like a nice boy."
And MiniFab is an awesome girl.

We said our goodbyes and Coach hit me up for whenever next time would be. "Bring music," she said.
"Yup, on my to-do list..." along with figuring out how to make a Sport Coat out of satin stretch and beading the sleeves. I was going to offer to bedazzle MiniFab's dress, but oh well.

I miss the other L2S parents, because it felt like we were all confused together. Now I'm in another universe and it's kind of lonely. Some of these moms don't even talk the same language. I guess I'll adapt eventually, but in the meantime I'll be bumbling along and learning as I go. Which makes me wonder, what if we're all just bumbling along...


see more Gifs

The Longest Journey

Begins with a single step. Trite but true, this saying often keeps me going through my hardest days and darkest nights. Step by step, moment by moment, one by one, the process happens and life in its entirety moves steadily forward.

This morning we arrived at the Rink to discover we were once again banished to the small ice. Mr V was complaining about the group of bigger skaters who were sharing the space and that this was a "wasted lesson." Ms V had the Rosetta Stone of a Practice Ice form and was asking me which clinics Gordon should take, but that she didn't want him skating more than twice a week because it was summer and Gordon needed time to be a Boy. I said I didn't know anything about the clinics at all and that our summer was officially shot to hell and back. (More on this later. Pretty bummed about it.)

I eventually migrated to Fab Skater's mom, who forewarned me about the mess that would be summer ice. "Every day there's a screaming match. Better reserve what spots you want now, and get it while the gettin's good."

Point taken. I completed my form and settled business in the office. Stitch should have ice for the first half of summer. How good it will be I can't know, but it's ice.

I moved into the rink for the last ten minutes, to watch and see what they were up to. Now alone on the rink, Coach and Stitch were working on the half flip. But instead of Stitch landing on his toepicks, she was getting him to land in a glide. And he was getting it. Small steps, one at a time.

After ten attempts, each one better than the last, she said they were going to do something new. I heard Lutz, and I bit my lip. Really?

Stitch got stepped through landing position, pick in, and up, land backwards on two feet. He got that a few times. "Okay," says Coach. "Now turn around in the air."

Stitch protests, but after a few tries, he's on the right path to a Half Lutz. I'm just watching. Time is running over, no one is caring, smaller children in the lower level class are arriving and all eyes are on Stitch. "Look at that little boy," says a dad. "Think you can do that someday?"
His daughter shakes her head no.

Yes, she will. If Stitch can, she can.

Another mom keeps her boy from going on the ice. "Not yet, honey. There's still a class going on."
"But why is he the only one, mommy?"
"Must be a private lesson," the mom frowns.

Once again, luck and chance paint Stitch and I as freespending weirdos. Really, these moments alone on the ice are rare as diamonds. Coach grills him on arm position. "You want to do triples? Quads? Hard to do when arms are not in position."

Stitch is half lutzing, stronger at first but then the skill fades as he tires. He's been at this for forty five minutes. Coach dismisses him and I greet him at the door. "Look at you, Patrick Chan! That was awesome!"

"We were just talking about Patrick Chan," says Coach. "See you tomorrow."

Yes, of course. Why were they talking about Patrick Chan?

Stitch and I walk to the store for a drink and snack, and to get out into the air. He's happy and bubbly, but says he was "terrible" at the new skills. They're new, I assure him. Keep working at it.

Later on, after group lessons, Other Kid approaches me. "Hi!"
"Hello, " I reply. "How are you today?"
"I think Stitch should practice his tricks more!"
"Tricks? What do you mean?"
"I'm practicing my Axel!" and he sets down his things and jumps into an "Axel" (I guess) but nearly lands on his face.
"Keep working on it," I just want to walk away, not wanting Other Kid and his Haxels ruining my happiness at today. Fortunately, Other Kid leaves, and Stitch comes out of the bathroom, having changed out of his skating clothes and into Real Boy clothes.

So it was a morning of me being That Mom, having That Kid, and now we're cleaning and back to reality. Tomorrow I start sewing another costume piece, and my business cards should arrive after Ice Show. If all luck holds, my pieces should start falling into place with Stitch's skills, one piece at a time.

Ice Time

Yesterday, Stitch was the only kid to show up for Boy's Ice Show rehearsal. The only one. Even the Coach was looking at me like I was insane. "Shouldn't you just go??" seemed to be the undercurrent of the afternoon. Nope. Not going anywhere, thank you. If those other kids can't be bothered to show up, then I will gladly take a half hour of private time on the big rink with a free coach, which is about a $200 value. Yessir, I think we'll stay!

Doubtless Free Coach can't and won't do much, but he did pace Stitch through some crossovers and spirals and shoot the ducks. Hey, that's enough for me, and with Coach out of town I won't tell if you won't. I parked my butt on the bench and stayed. Another Coach was looking at me sideways, perhaps also wondering what the heck was going on, but I've earned my lessons. Ice Time is Precious Time.

Towards the end of a group lesson, the next group will start showing up, hanging off the door and waiting. Skaters on the ice and Moms with skaters not yet on the ice are all watching the clock. Watch them dart glances at it every few seconds, cramming in one more jump, one more spin. When that clock is wrong, people know it. Everyone wants their every second. When the time starts ticking past time, Moms will start pacing, and skaters dragging their asses better watch out. Get your tissues, get your guards and get out. It's my time now!

It's worse when there's a coach involved. Then the timer starts running. I have felt the angry vibrations of a mom timing a Group Coach talking on and on and on and on while the students stand still. I've timed one of them myself, and she clocked in at ten minutes of yammering before students started moving. I almost pulled him from that class. Coaches, moms don't have much time for on-ice blather.

If it's a private lesson, then the claws are out before the lesson even starts. I show up fifteen minutes before Stitch's start time, and I have him ready to go on the bench just outside the ice door, waiting. Currently I am hating our lesson time slot because it overlaps with a high level group who unapologetically take up the majority of the ice. I feel this cheats Stitch, so I'm anxious to find another time. (Even to the point of switching with Gordon, even though he doesn't have the speed to keep up or dodge. I've debated bringing it up with Ms V.) I have felt bad when Coach has stopped with another student on a public session to talk to Stitch. She's on someone else's dime, she shouldn't be bothering with Stitch. I've told him not to bother his Junior Coach friend while she's with a student, nor to bother his friends if they are getting a lesson.

Sunday afternoon, though, other girls and moms began arriving, looking out at the one boy with some raised brows. "Just him?" asked one mom. "Why even stay?" she looked at me funny. Nope, I'm not leaving early. Noon is when my time is up, and Noon is when I'm leaving. Stay off my ice please!

That having been said, I'm going to step out and say that I did do something terrible on Sunday. I suffer from Hot Feet, and the suddenly warm day had making my feet miserable. An ice surface seemed like a relief. So, while Stitch was on the ice alone and Other Coach was out talking to someone, I took my shoe off and put my bare foot on the ice. Worst. Idea. Ever. Do not ever do this, no matter the temptation.

Great Skate Morning and the Road Trip from Hell

This morning was fabulous. I mean, I thought I was dreaming. Stitch was awake and on the sofa without me prodding. He was cheerful and peppy, put up some playful whining but was ready for a full morning. He got dressed in some "proper" skating attire suitable for testing, and off we went.

We arrived early for lesson with Coach, which was great since Gordon backed out. Stitch got a few extra minutes and some clearer ice. I stayed outside, playing Fishbowl and Stitch didn't seem to mind. I listened to Coach Olympia and her fleet of Sparkle Princesses squabble over text messages, passing around phones while they laced up skates. I walked outside for a few minutes to escape them, noting that the Grackle birds who lived in the rafters of the building sounded pretty similar to the Princesses.

I digress.

Coach came out and said that Stitch could pass Delta today. (I believe that.) That's nice, but we're testing Beta today. It's that pesky Gamma, with those critical Mohawks and Outside 3 Turns that are stumping him, particularly on the left side, his weak side. She seemed flustered. She wanted him out of Gamma. I remained calm. Again, here's me, in no hurry at all. Whatever happens, happens, just so long as he gets those damn patches. I know Coach wants that easier ice, but I've made a crap ice schedule work so far, and I can make it work for another few months.

But Stitch himself was still in good spirits and ready to head over to Rink Across Town. Practice Ice! I had him leave his skates on, and off we went. Once more, he took charge of his practice ice. I gritted my teeth and glued my ass to those bleachers while he chatted with another little girl and showboated. This is his ice, This is his ice, This is his skating, This is his ice, I repeated to myself over and over. But overall he worked. I got his coffee on time, and when he was done with Mohawks he took a break. He was doing great until spirals, when he tripped on a toepick and went down hard. The mothers I was chatting with all took a collective gasp. Stitch was crying, but I knew what had happened. For some reason, this kid gets the wind knocked out of him really easy. Just about on every fall, Stitch is getting that terrifying sensation of being unable to breathe, and I can sympathize. That really sucks. So he came off the ice, I did some comforting and then went back to the bleachers. The other moms were pretty impressed when he went right back out and started doing bunneh hops.


Awesome skating Director comes out. "Good morning, Moms! I'm going to punch your cards now!"

God, I love her.

As she punched my card, I stopped her. "Excuse me, I have a silly question."
"I doubt it's silly, but go ahead."
"My son," I pointed, "is registered with Basic Skills through your program. When we watch skating on TV, I tell him he's a member of USFS and he doesn't believe it. Can I get a membership card or something?"
"Oh, then he needs a book and stuff. Come with me."

And I followed her into her office, where she gave me a booklet, a stack of stickers, a Basic Skills Patch, and she asked me what level he was.
"Well, Coach had him compete at Basic 6..."
"Oh, then he needs those patches, then." And she opens a drawer and counts out a rainbow of patches and just hands them to me.
Just like that. "You have no idea, you've made his entire day and he doesn't even know it yet."
"This is just what everyone gets."
We then had a brief conversation about ISI versus USFS, and I fell in love with her, her rink, her program, everything. "You drink Diet Coke," I noticed the two bottles on her desk.
"Love the stuff. And I like it hot."
"Me too!" Can I camp in your lobby or something?

I literally ran back to the rink and called Stitch over. "Look what I got," and I laid out the patches one by one, as his eyes got wider, wider, wider.
"Where did you get those?!"
"Skating Director gave them to you! I can put them on your jacket!"
He was so excited, he spun.

Then it was breakfast on the run, and back to Home Rink. Stitch would have passed the Gamma Test were it not for his weak left side, and I'm okay with it. He was in good spirits and stole a dollar for the vending machine. I wandered around, talking, snooping, typical stuff. I really wondered how Nutso and her kids would react to the skating jacket when I decked it out. Not that I enjoy bragging, but I really get tired of Precious' attitude sometimes. *cough*

So Stitch has 45 minutes left, he's still in a great mood, and the Beta Test seems a sure bet. He wolfed his Honey Bun, I watched my hopes for a healthy lunch disappear with it, and off he went for "warm up" with the other falling kids. He showboated and cavorted, and then he fell. Hard fall. Hard enough that Coach S went to investigate the sound of the wailing. But Coach S is tough, and unless your appendage is at an odd angle or yuor blood is creating a hazard to someone else, you aren't getting off the ice. As it was, Stitch seemed shocked but okay.

The other moms next to me watched as I studied the situation. "Is he yours?"
"Yeah."
"Is he okay?"
"Seems to be. He's not crying anymore."

We then talked about coaching and lessons, ice time, all kinds of stuff. The entire conversation was just a reminder of how much the Learn to Skate parents are in the dark.
"It took me forever to figure out the practice ice schedule," said one mom.
"How much is private coaching? Do I pay the park district?" asked the other.
"No," I corrected her.
I showed her my collection of coupons and punch cards. I explained about competitions and such, Ice Show, all that.
"Thanks for the crash course," the one mom said. "My daughter wanted to start with private lessons, but I said no."
"Good plan. Start here. Group lessons are fine." I was trying to quietly video Stitch's test.

This time he got the honor of flying across the ice, waving his paper with a smile on his face. He passed. Now I owe him chocolate, and the tenth and final Star. As I was taking off skates, I noticed that one cheek was redder than the other. "Stitch, where did you fall?"
"On my cheek."
"You have an ice burn on your face." Sure enough, he's got a spiderweb of fine scratches on his face, and it looks like I hit him with a spatula. Hopefully that will heal before next weekend. Or I can sit in the stands, menacing him with a spatula for Parental Bonus Points

He was giddy, positively giddy, and such a good boy for enduring a marathon Saturday morning. I kept repeating my appreciation for his great attitude.

We ran home to grab my skates, then it was off for a sharpening and lunch. Stitch chose chicken noodle in a bread bowl, and despite the Honey Bun, Cinnamon Melts and Sausage Biscuit, he ate most of it plus some of my chips. This means only one thing: Growth Spurt. This and the imprint of his thin socks on his feet left me shivering in the shadows of New Skates. I'll think about that tomorrow.

Then the day went downhill. Did you know I can't navigate the Suburbs? There are some roads out there, that once I get on them, I get locked into this network of unmarked hell punctuated by a series of U Turns. (Most of which are legal.) Rink Faraway is just off one of these roads. Here, in no particular order, is my series of mistakes:

1. I accidentally got on the Toll Road. This is not entirely my fault. My printout of directions somehow cut off Step 9. Step 9 is apparently the critical Step. Naturally.
2. I lost my bearings. Without my large major landmarks, I lost which way was North and East. So I headed down Road of the Damned at least 5 miles the wrong way. I stopped for gas and asked some eye-rolling woman who lost patience with me the moment I said "ice rink."
3. I didn't know the major train routes. So, we got waylaid by a rather large freight train which delighted Stitch to no end, but left me watching the clock.

What should have taken 25 minutes took an hour. Maybe more, I stopped counting. But I eventually found the long and winding road, at the end of which is Rink Faraway and it's stupidly laid out parking lots, made even more stupid by the vast fleet of minivans that can't park. Stitch and I headed in, surrounded by screeching moms, twittering girls, crying infants in big strollers, and barreling hockey boys still in helmets, which was good since they were barreling into moving vehicles. The Devil himself could not have envisioned the hell that is the Northern suburbs. The Hell didn't end at the parking lot. Stitch and I checked in at the counter, beside another mom counting hand stamps for the flock of kids at her birthday party. She was screeching. Why must they always screech?

Home Rink always offers some respite from lobby noise by heading into the actual rink to put on skates. This was not the case here. Hockey Boys (All Boys) and Figure Skating class (All Girls) were sharing the same big ice. Noisy as all get out. I put on our skates and we waited. Stitch was watching everything. "So, looks like the judges might be over there," I pointed to the penalty box. "And you might come out of that door there," I pointed to the ice door on the far end. "Not so bad."
"Nope," said Stitch. "Just don't get lost again."

After a round by the Zamboni and some outlay of cones, Public Skate began. Stitch and I stepped onto the ice and into Complete Chaos. I'm not a great skater, but I've never been actually afraid for both of us until today. I mean, seriously afraid for our safety. This ice was too crowded. Little kids were falling everywhere, gangs of teenage girls were grabbing onto each other and collapsing into giggling, squealing clumps, hockey boys were tearing around every which way, hockey dads were not setting a good example for them, and actual figure skaters were trying to act cool amidst it all. In the middle, Coaches were trying to give lessons while hockey boys skated over their markings and laughed. I kept getting cut off by the same chick in blue, and the third time she did it I decided to trip her sorry ass on the next pass. Some little boy was going the wrong way, like a Salmon out to spawn, only in moonboots. His mom was in the stands, cheering him on.

I lost Stitch on several points, and when I did find him, he was just trying to survive. At one point he caught up with me. "Mom! This place is terrible! I fell, and a guard just skated right by me!"
"What?"
"Didn't even ask if I was okay!"
"Oh god."

At another point when I lost Stitch, I stepped into the relative safety of the penalty box to find him. I saw him in the stands. Message received. I headed over. "Are we done here?"
"Oh yes. This place is awful."
We took off skates and pointed out particular people who had bugged us. I started wondering if we could just stay and watch the hockey boys bowl over the girls in figure skating dresses and Rentals. We were giggling over the entire affair, leaving a little bit wiser and grateful for the great Rink Guards at Home Rink.

Heading home, I was breathing some relief that the day was over. Was it really over? It's never over until Fate says it is, folks.

The Oil Light came on.

I pulled off the expressway and onto local roads, knowing I had a better shot of actually finding (striking?) oil. I thought that Dad had some in the trunk anyway. I got into a small parking lot to check, but all Dad's bottles were empties. Hm. "Okay Stitch," I closed the hood. "When you get back in, cross your fingers."
"Why?"
"Because we're going to need some luck to get through this one. Ugh."
"Oh, mom, it's okay. This is an adventure, right?"
"Right."

So, we held our collective breath, I kept the RPM's low so the light stayed off, we found a small convenience mart and bought some oil. "Do you want a funnel?" asked the cashier.
Should have said yes.
Stitch and I popped the hood again, standing in the snow and waiting for the engine to cool a bit. "Okay, where does the oil go," I started quizzing him.
Stitch dutifully located the oil gauge, timing belt, battery and coolant fluid.
"Okay, should be cool enough by now. Let's try." And I tried to navigate a thin stream of oil into the engine. I failed. "Stitch, go bug the nice ladies for a funnel," I admitted defeat.
Stitch ran in with my last dollar, and the ladies found him so cute they gave him a free paper funnel. (I'm sure they were free anyway, but Stitch had asked for a free one.)

I gave the engine half the bottle. "All right, Stitch, you're going to slam the hood. Ready?"
He giggled while I stepped him through the gratifying slam of a car hood.

Four hours from when we started out, we parked in front of the building. "Ugh," I let go.
"Did you have a bad day?" asked Stitch.
"No, not a bad day. Just a stupid day."
"Shhh!" he points up a Neighbor's window. "Neighbor's window is open! She won't let me say 'Stupid'."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Sometimes things are stupid, there's just no other word for it."

We laughed at The Test, Lost in the Suburbs, Rink Faraway, and the Oil Adventure. Now we're finally home, and I'm about to make popcorn and hot chocolate. No more skating today. No more anything. I just don't want to court disaster anymore, thanks. I'm even a bit scared to sew on those patches, frankly.

We Return to Normal Schedule

So, I learned today that watching any Learn to Skate session is made much more lively by listening to Rap music over your headphones. The following video is NSFW.



Yes, Pre-Alpha and Tots suddenly get a whole new dimension.

Stitch started out with Coach in the early morning. I put on skates, was feeling rather chipper, sent Stitch into the rink and ran headlong into Mr and Ms. Valium. "Good morning!" I greeted them loudly.

"Oh, how are you?" Ms. Valium was her quiet self.
Mr. Valium gives us both a look. "Honey, this is the same mom."
"No," replies Ms. Valium. "This is the other boy's mom."
"Are you sure? She looks the same as that other mom."
"Nope!" I say. "Different mom!" (I can't make this shit up.)

We have some awkward conversation before Stitch storms out of the rink and demands my presence inside. "Gotta go, nice talking with you," I relish my excuse.

I waved hi to Coach, and settle myself on the far end of the rink, away from the Parent Parking Bench. I ran music for her, alternating between zoning out, watching the bigger kids get fussed at and trying to listen to the coaches bickering in other languages. PrepSchool was getting schooled, not in skating, but in shutting up. Olympia was trying to give instruction to her bevy of girls, while PrepSchool apparently was talking over her, and she snapped off at him in a big way. (I can't blame her, but it was a bit excessive given the public nature of that lesson group.) She then tossed him off to another Coach, who taught him and another boy backwards edges. I was trying to keep my laughter to myself. Pardon me, but weren't you supposed to have backwards edges down by now, if you're in a freestyle group? Whatevs. So PrepSchool and Other Boy were doing half-assed edgework, goofing off, when the Other Coach flips out and threatens to kick them off the ice. Beautiful.

Anyway. Stitch and Coach were working on a harder spin, doing the program, nothing too serious. I was just enjoying myself, but Stitch was determined to hate the day. He was being excessively whiny and obstinate. Hm.

Coach came off the ice and we had a mutual apology session. Just confusion on both our parts, and everything was fine again. We scheduled some time for the following week, but then Stitch began complaining. "He says he doesn't like to do Gamma, he says it is too much," Coach says.
"That's a bullshit line," I dismissed it.
"Well, I know it's bullshit, but,"
For a moment it hit me just how casual our conversation had become.

She told me her own frustrations with The Prepschool situation, but that it was Coaches trying to force the kids to Freestyle faster because the ice was more convenient. That may be so.. but.... "I know, they can't skate," she agreed, but things were easier once that little bump got passed. A few more profanities later, and I felt reassured and validated. Be patient, just a little while longer. If we stay on track, then Winter is when we'll be sailing Freestyle.

Stitch stayed on the ice to practice awhile longer, but then we headed out for coffee. I figured a latte was in order for both of us, so we drove to a nearby Starbuck's.

"Yeah, he'll have a small vanilla latte, whole milk and easy on the temp," I said to the cashier.
His finger hovered over the register. "You mean a kid's steamer."
"No. A latte."
"Decaf?"
"No. Regular."
The finger hovered. "Really?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I'll take a grande hazelnut latte skim."

Skating kids.

Back at the Rink, we watched the PreFreestyle kids warming up, PrepSchool flopping around and I sighed. Soon, soon, soon. Be patient. Stitch was watching. "Should I be on the ice?"
"Not yet. Another ten minutes."

Not yet, indeed. There's a decent ways to go. Stitch doesn't just need to learn the moves, he needs to learn self-discipline and respect. Already he's doing better; he politely raised his hand and asked his Group Coach to be excused to use the restroom. Most kids just take off. He's practicing his skating on his own more, without me bugging him. The Stars help, but there's more self motivation going on, too.

Stitch may have whined about doing Gamma and Beta, but he did them both well. When he took a hard fall in Gamma, he stepped out to compose himself and then went back in. I wasn't needed at all. Yes, Stitch is getting that Hard Knocks Maturity that the bigger skaters have, one fall at a time.

In the meantime, Stitch has requested a Bright Red Practice shirt, in long sleeve so he can forego the jacket. "I want people to be able to see me," he says. Baby, they see you. Trust me.

And He Survived

Ice Show forms are out, the rules are up, and the skaters are whining about the theme but quibbling over solos. Last night, Rink Pal handed Stitch a form, and Stitch rolled his eyes. The prospect of skating while dressed as a sparkly policeman might be the only thing that gets Stitch in this show, but I can't promise that. For all I know, the Pre-Freestyle boys might be the ones getting "rescued" by some Gamma Girls, and that would be disastrous. Reality is, Stitch won't be doing any of his cool spins or high Bunny Hops for Home Rink until the Open Competition, not without Divine Intervention.

But at last ice show I was driven insane by the halation on the spots and the lack of visual interest on the ice surface, so I want to throw my hat in on the lighting efforts. It can look better, despite the arguments that they were out of power. Well, that's why the good lord made breakups, 90 degree lens tubes and split gels. And watching all these galas on IceNetwork, I figured out that all those spots have a light frost in them, which kills some of the halation and masks when the spot ops lose the skaters.

Anyway, I'll talk to the Volunteer Coordinator and Stitch. Ice Show is on the horizon at least. It's only three performances.

This morning went okay. For awhile I was afraid Stitch had a fever, as he was warm and sluggish. But he perked up a bit when Coach arrived. I warned her about the "might be sick, see what happens" situation, but the lesson was good. I watched from the windows, mostly bored. Then she showed him a mohawk turn, something I know only from Youtube, and I got excited. Something new!

They finished up, I gave Coach her birthday present (a package of pocket pack tissues) and we chatted briefly. Then she tells me to hang on a minute and she disappears. I get Stitch's skates off, give him some money for the vending machine and orders to get water this time. He goes off, and Coach comes back.

"Can you be here at ten?"
"Sure."
"Be here at ten. Find Coach M, and she will take him in the Gamma Class. After that, he can skate in his regular Beta Class. Okay?"
"Uh," My two Shoulder Ghosts are arguing.
"Don't move him up too fast! One thing at a time!" says the one with the halo.
The one with the horns pokes me in the neck with her fork. "Shit, yeah move up! Beta is Boring! And this will piss Lucy off!"

But he's still in the Beta Class, just heading over to Gamma for the four weeks left, so maybe we can think of this as a Gamma Preview. Yeah. "Okay, we'll be here at ten."

Stitch was upset. "But then I won't pass Beta," he says on the way to the car.
"No, you're still in Beta. You will still get your patch, I'll make sure of that." Damn straight. "Besides, now when Lucy says that she's a better skater since she's Gamma, you can say you're in Gamma, too."

Stitch liked this idea. Lucy's been lording the Gamma title over Stitch since December, and it's been annoying him.

So tomorrow we'll skip Practice Ice (As we got up so early this morning and as precaution in case Stitch is indeed working on some sickness bug), and do Gamma and Beta class. I'm really curious to see a group class session without a horde of Pre-Alpha bodies littering the ice.

A Little Suffering..

Tomorrow is the earliest skating lesson yet. Coach and I were fretting over dates via phone, and she said that "if he doesn't have a problem with it, we can do morning."
"He won't have a problem with it," I said drily.

So I came home. "Stitch, we have a problem. Coach is taking a mini-vacation this weekend, so the only time you can see her is in the morning. Early. In the morning."
He glares at me. "What."
"That's what it is, and if you want to hit that goal of perfect program, then you'll be there. Get me?"
"So I have to skate before school?"
"Yes."
"But I'll be late for school!"
"No, you'll be early for school."
"That's even worse!"

Uh huh.

So, let's add this up. It will be:
Butt Crack of Dawn
and
Witch's Tit Cold

Which equals:

Another Skating Saturday

And I'm tired. We started out at 7:15 with Coach, arriving just barely on time because Stitch was dawdling in the snow. Ms. Valium was there, saying hi to me and how Gordon was upset at having to be at the rink so early. "But he was fine once he got on the ice," she smiled.

"Oh, I'm sure," I said, familiar with the phenomenon myself.

Gordon stormed out of the doors. "Can we just go now?"

Apparently he was not fine. Ms. Valium and I shrugged, and went our separate ways. Sometimes kids are just testy. I sent Stitch on in, dropped off the CD next to Coach's player, and went for a Diet Coke. (Concession stand not open and not in the mood for machine coffee.) I was playing fishbowl, listening to the Synchro team and their Coach go over their routine, enjoying the quiet, when I realized that PrepSchool wasn't there. He should be with Coach Olympia and that bunch. I watched them jump and spin, and realized that there was no way PrepSchool would have been able to keep up with that. Huh.

Then Stitch and Coach started doing Waltz Jumps. I was expecting another go-around of tries and weird landings, but the Stitch landed a nice one. And another nice one. And then he started overthinking it and got wonky, but two nice ones! Another Coach skated over and they were talking to Stitch, all smiles and pats on the head.

Coach came running out. "We need music."
"I left it by the CD player for you," I thought she'd seen me do that, but I guess not.
"Oh," she seemed pleasantly surprised anyway.
Stitch ran his program a few times, and then it was time to move on. Coach seemed pleased and her next student was waiting. The second Coach came to the door. "He's so good, very good!"

Honest fact: Whenever a Coach (or anyone) praises Stitch, I only listen to the first three words. The rest I tune out. If I get absorbed in the praise, it would be too easy for me to go to The Dark Side of being a Skate Parent. So, all I really listened to was "He's so good," and I said "thanks" quickly before scheduling next time with Coach. (That's another thing I like about Coach, she's sparse with the praise towards me.)

She then said Stitch could stay for another half hour, but Stitch said he wanted to go to Rink Across Town. This was fine by me, since it was what I had originally planned. So I had him leave his skates on and off we went. I dropped him off by the front door so I could park the car, and told him to please just go in and get started with forward stroking. Stitch went in, and when I got in myself, Stitch was in the rink like a good boy, forward stroking. I left him the list and the egg timer, and away we went with Practice Ice. Or rather, he went. He's getting really good at managing himself.

Another mom and I chatted before Stitch waved to me to count the revolutions of his spins. This is getting really hard for me, he spins faster now. Shhhh, sometimes I make up the numbers! I left him his coffee, and he took a break, and it was all a familiar and happy routine. He took a few falls, but was up without a problem. Nothing funny today... except when Stitch was doing edges and decided to liven things up by changing foot and/or edge by hopping. This scared the crap out of me, which he noticed and did more of while giggling. He then did hops while trying backwards one-foot glides, which again scared the crap out of me, so Practice Ice turned into Scare Mom Ice.

But he was still confusing edges on 3 turns. I hope it gels for him at some point.

We headed home for breakfast, and then it was off to what is always the liveliest part of my Saturday, Group Lessons.

Stitch took off for warm-up, and started jogging. I mean, high kneed jogging, scaring me to death and making the girls giggle as he passed by. He went backwards, he bunny hopped, he swizzled, he did all sorts of things, which was good since the Coaches really had no interest in assisting with the warm-ups at all.  They chatted amongst themselves, looked a clipboards, and only one of them was helping the fallers and stragglers. Urgh. The kids all separated into their classes having just done a glorified Public Skate.

Honestly, I'm going to miss this session. I have four weeks left of watching Pre-Alpha parents, half of whom are facemashed to the glass watching their Olympian take Learning Dives and the other half would rather be kicked by a mule than freezing in an ice rink watching their kid fall. Beside me was a Dad playing solitaire on his iPhone while his daughter looked up to see if he was watching her do one-foot glides. Above me was a mom screaming "Glide! Gliiiiide!" to her daughter, Purple Tutu, who was duckwalking.

I started thinking. Kids learning to skate I guess is a lot like Kids learning to walk. Think back to all those parenting "manuals" you read while immobile and eating everything in sight. They said that it takes about 1000 hours of practice for a kid to learn to walk. Read that again. 1000 hours. Practice. Walking. Taken in skating terms, at six hours a week (what Stitch averages out to) he'd still need about two years to learn to walk. So, think of it that way, and the progress being made in any given Pre-Alpha class is phenomenal. It's not just forward gliding, it's backward swizzling and balancing on this really thin blade. While they're learning to walk, babies make up all kinds of weird ways to get around, just because it works. Remember the funny cousin who scooched on his little butt for what felt like forever, and everyone said he'd never walk right because he never crawled "right?" Yeah. He walked eventually, and Purple Tutu will glide like a champ someday, provided her mom doesn't yell at her too much.

Anyway, I was freezing my ass off, shivering and cranky. I think I looked like it, as no one spoke to me. After class Stitch went to get some coffee and I went to settle business with Coach. She seemed a bit nervous as I approached, only smiling when she realized I was just paying her. It hit me then that I'd been scowling for the past hour. I hate being cold.

A real bonus to doing these competitions is that it's making this winter go by faster. I'm not concerned with the temperature, I'm now thinking of a day in March and those twenty-odd days now seem short. Who knew.

But we're finally home. Housework is done and we watched the Nationals Gala on TV. Stitch is now doing skating moves, and we're off for late skate tonight. I'm thinking of making cookies for the gang, as the blizzard was awful and knocked out half the spaces in the stupid lot. Parking battles merit cookies, IMO.

Yay, Practice Ice!

Well, after listening to Stitch rail at the judges for making Jeremy Abbott "lose", I packed him off for some surprise Practice Ice. Typically we hit the Public Skate on Sundays, but that had been pushed to the Studio due to a hockey game. I decided to skip that today, and good thing. The Maintenance Friend told me that it was absolutely packed. I don't like chaotic ice, it's useless to me.

The place was blessedly empty and peaceful. I love it like this. Lots of space, no loud noise, and usually only the cool people are there. We ran into Fab Skater and Coach B, chatted for awhile and then headed into the rink. Stitch kept asking, "Can I go on? How about now? Now?" It's never good when he's running up and down the outside of the boards like a penned animal.

Fab Skater was coaching, Coach B was in the hockey box with her ankle, and Coach M was there with NariNam. NariNam's Dad held me hostage for awhile talking about how "if you teach your kid skating you know they're going to have a career."
"Oh, sure, they can always Coach..." I offer, not really sure what he's talking about.
"No, they'll either be a great skater, or they'll drive the Zamboni."

There was this weird pause as I realized that he wanted me to laugh. I was actually kinda horrified. Stitch was doing his forward stroking, warming up until Coach arrived, tying her skates pretty much as she got on the ice. Hey, Nationals just got done.

Stitch worked with Coach for the first half hour, with the new music. She was getting him to try some new connecting moves and arm waving, fluffing up the existing program. I'm not a big fan of arm-waving, but Coach has some nice ways to make it work with the elements. There was some more jumping, and Stitch was doing some toepick hops with his exuberance. NariNam's Dad even commented on it. "Is he doing a routine?"

"Yeah, they're revamping the old program for another competition." I mentally reminded myself to mail that damn entry form when I went by the post office tomorrow morning.
"Oh." He sounded contemplative. "He competes?"
"Yeah, he likes it."
"Oh," he concluded. And then he goes on about his goals for NariNam's endurance, then excuses himself to the lobby.

I watch Coach and Stitch, finding myself doing toe-curls inside my shoes during the three turns. Stitch catches my grimace when he mixes up edges, and it throws him off for the rest of the program. Crap. Need to sit higher up.

In comes Mr. Valium and Gordon. Yay! Mr. Valium looks discombobulated. He throws on Gordon's Skates and then starts throwing things out of the bag, on the phone with someone. Gordon is wringing his hands and whining, as Coach starts calling for him. I hop down to "say hello."

"Music," Gordon is whining.
"Honey, you didn't pack the music," Mr. Valium is terse. "Gordon says Coach wanted music. Gordon, did she ask you for the music this time, or did she do it just now?"
"She wanted music," Gordon isn't getting the question, because it's dumb. (Tipper; You keep a copy of your competition music in your skate bag and a second copy in your Skate Mom's purse until Coach tells you to ditch it.)

So the angry phone call goes on while Gordon goes on the ice and starts skating around. "Hey," I finally speak up. "How are you guys?"
Mr. Valium looks like he wants to kill me for being so perky.
"Did Gordon have fun last Sunday?"
Mr. Valium shrugs. "I guess. I mean, he got a trophy which he liked, but he came in third. One of those other kids, he was doing things above the level..."
"Wow, that's awful," I was frantically trying to remember the skaters but all that I could bring back was that stupid song.
"Well, Coach tried to question it, but it didn't work."
"Hey, he got a trophy, that's good."
Mr Valium shrugged. "So, does Stitch do anything else?"
"No. He doesn't want to. I've asked."
"Huh. Well, Gordon likes skating, but he doesn't have a passion for it. I mean, we're not thinking about quads."
"Me neither." I smile at Stitch, who is running his program again, alongside Gordon, who for the second time is using Stitch's music to run his program. Quads? Let's do proper Bunny Hops first.
Mr Valium is quiet for a bit. "So I'm basically wasting a lesson, since he doesn't have his music."
"You're never wasting a lesson," I turn to him, but he's actually on his cell phone, arguing with Ms. Valium again.

Where did the cool people go? I sigh and watch the kids, and Stitch is dismissed so he skates to me for instruction. I start giving him orders via smartphone, and Mr Valium asks what I'm doing. "Oh, it's a sign thing," I try to explain, but Mr Valium is apparently not interested.
"We're just not here that often," he brushes it off.

Things start winding down, and the boys spend the last seconds swizzling the rink from front to back before the zamboni chases them off. Stitch's squeal as he noticed the thing backing onto the ice was priceless. Maintenance Friend would never run him down!

Coach and the Boys exit the ice, and Mr Valium tries to flag down Coach, but she makes a beeline for me. She gives me some orders to have Stitch watch some music videos, perhaps to inspire him to dance, and I agree. We talk about the disappointment that Jeremy didn't make Worlds, but it's okay. Next weekend, we're on.

I declare that we have to stop at the store for Pie, since it was such a good practice (and it's so late and Stitch hung on like a champ.) A bottle of RG wouldn't hurt, either. We come home to Dad's meatloaf and mashed potatoes, and life is good. Stitch makes some amazing faces as I tell him he has to eat some asparagus spears before having pie, but he eats them. He starts whistling "Dynamite" and from there the conversation is downhill. Eventually we're down to farting noises and it's done, but in the best way possible.

Yes, even without quads, life is good.



If this doesn't get Dynamite out of your head, nothing will.

Great Ice Day

This morning I let Stitch do his own practice ice. I gave him the list, a pencil to check off the elements, and the egg timer. I went to the stands and held my breath.

Stitch worked. He went down the list methodically, even though I've told him he can jump around. Backwards one foot glides, backwards stroking, more boring crossovers, and those dratted three turns. Other Coaches did their business, and Stitch strategically avoided them. I only had to tell him once to find a clearer spot to work, and beyond that he was on his own. I bought him his French Vanilla, setting it on the bench to cool while he did three turns. I told him to take a coffee break at 8:30, which he did, and then he was right back to work. While I was very pleased and proud, this unfortunately left me having to listen to two moms of some young girl skaters learning swizzles and one foot glides. The two girls were running rings around their preppy coach, wasting time and playing with each other.

"Look at her, she is just so loving this," one mom went off about her own daughter.
"Yes, they had such a good time at the competition," said the other mother.
"She just loves to spin, but she doesn't know how to stop! Hahahaha!"
Blah blah blah.

I tuned them out in time for Nice Mom to arrive. I greeted her and looked for her little girl, looking much stronger in her swizzling these days. "Looking good," I commented.

"Yes! You were right, she skated more to get ready for the competition and I saw a big difference!"
"Yup. They just need to be on the ice."
"Did your son compete?"
"Oh yeah, he had a blast."
"Did he..." she trailed off.
"Oh, first place. Good times."

The other moms shut up fast and bored holes into the side of my head.

"What about yours?" I ignored them. "Did she get a trophy?"
"Third place."
"That's great! Congratulations."
"She was skating against those two girls," Nice Mom pointed out to the wobbly brats and I tried not to bristle.
"Well, I'm sorry I missed her. I would have loved to have seen her." It's true, I like her little girl. She took a hard fall on a crossover, and Cool Coach didn't help her up, but explained why she fell. Little girl got up and tried again, no complaints. Yes, I like her.

Stitch started doing Spirals, lazy and awful. Oh well, our next stop is Coach and she'll put a stop to that.

Nice Mom and I keep talking, ignoring the self congratulating chatter next to us. "So I should just bring her to public skate?" Nice Mom asks.
"Yes, just let her play," I notice that the other gabbing has stopped and they are glaring, listening to me. "I tell Stitch to do some work, like ten swizzles, forward and back. Do ten one foot glides on each foot, and so on. But let her play. It's comfort you're looking for."
"I'm going to do that. She loves to skate."
"Then let her skate."

At five to nine, I hopped down to the boards. "Okay, Stitch. That's the end of the list. Good work!"
"No," he zips by me. "I wrote something else!" he zips by again. Sure enough, he wrote "GO REALLY FAST!" at the bottom.
"Okay, but they're going to kick you off! There's lessons coming in!"

Sure enough, Stitch got booted off the ice. We headed out to the lobby and there was Nutso, sitting at a bench. "Hi!" she greets me.
I wave back.
"How was the competition?"
"Uh, really great. We really enjoyed it. Definitely going to try to do it again next year."
"Did he win?"
OH YES, HE WON THE WHOLE DAMN THING! "He took first place in his event."
"That's so great!" her tone is paper thin. "We have to see pictures!"
Why am I so unnerved at this moment? Why does she want pictures? This isn't making sense. Her daughter despises Stitch. Whatever, I wander over with my phone (which has all my incriminating tweets on it so I'm frantically closing applications) and show her the few pictures I got on it that day.
"Oh, look," she grabs it and shows That Other One. "Look at Stitch and his Trophy!"
Okay, now it's me and That Other One who are uncomfortable. That Other One clearly doesn't give a whit about some other kid and his trophy. I don't blame her. I take my phone back and use the thin "gotta get my card punched" excuse to leave.

With that weirdness behind us, Stitch and I go get some breakfast. I talk about math, a new chapter book we should start reading together, and school. Stitch doesn't like the chapter book idea, but it's Phantom Tollbooth which is one of my favorites (and a stunning allegory into the world of figure skating.) Stitch then makes the statement that Group Classes are boring. "They're boring because you ignore the coach and don't work hard," I tell him. It's true, without someone looking right at him, he half-asses it. Stitch rolls his eyes. "Better work today, it's evaluation day."
"Ugh!" says Stitch.

We head to Home Rink, put on skates and there is Coach. Apparently this entry form is my responsibility this time, as she hands it back to me and says to mail it. Blah.

I sat for awhile to wait, watching the Coach Olympia Club chatter on a bench. Coach Olympia was in the middle, all her adoring students showing their evaluation papers for her blessing. She eventually called them over to the far corner for stretching. "Prepschool!" she shouted. "PrepSchool! Get over here! Run!"
"Which one's PrepSchool?" a girl asked.
"The boy," Olympia sighed.
"We have a boy," girl points to blond boy.
"The other boy," Olympia snaps. They start doing stretches and I just warm up skates using the bathroom hand dryer.

"Stitch, can I stay in the lobby today?" I ask, putting on skates.
"What? No."
"I'll be at the glass playing fishbowl, is that okay?"
"No."
"I'll still see you. I can't play fishbowl?"
"NO."
"I have to be in there? It's cold in there."
"I need you in there."
Hard to argue with that, so I put on my coat.

And I sit on the cold bench in the cold room, watching Coach Olympia seem to do everything possible to get in the way of Stitch's back crossovers and spins. She kept running her two tot skaters right down the middle of the rink rather than close to the boards, so Stitch and Coach were chronically interrupted. Richie Rich and Coach Diamond seem to have hit a wall. There's nothing new going on here, they seem to be at the same place they were a month ago; forward crossovers and backward half pumps. Richie Rich just doesn't seem all that interested in lessons, and Coach Diamond is phoning it in.

The good story is the Dad and his Tot on skates, on Practice Ice, with the both of them falling all over each other. These kinds of things are fine at Public Skate, we expect it then. But not here. Here, you're just embarrassing yourself. Dad picked up Tot (eeeeeeeeeeggghhkkkk), carried him to mom and pointed to the skates. He went off in another language, but I could surmise that Dad blamed Mom for poorly tied skates. Dad was accurate, Mom slipped off the skate while it was fully laced up. I thought about offering to help, but I thought I'd have better luck bailing out the Titanic. Dad then went back onto the ice where he nearly bowled into Coach Olympia, which, had he completed the move, would have been my awesome moment of the day.

Mom decides that Tot is done, so she lets him run around. Tot finds the cones, and tastes them. My yeeeccchhhggg reflex darts to stop him, Mom actually gets testy with my interference, and takes him away. Tot begins screaming bloody murder, a howling, back arching fit. Everyone on the ice is disturbed by this, but she doesn't take him out. Finally, after getting dirty looks from everyone and me just laughing at her, she leaves with Tot. 

Coach begins yelling at Stitch, and to my surprise, Stitch was responding. I think she's feeling him out. Go ahead, yell at him. I like Coach's style, she's 20% Mary Poppins and 80% Jack London. Stitch needs a no-nonsense teacher. I wish his school Teacher would get this. They come off the ice, and Coach informs me that they are aiming for a Perfect Program for March. She's aiming for solid elements. I like this.

She gives me "homework;" Spiral and Lunge stretches Stitch must do at home. We got lazy over the holidays and stopped stretching, so I'll start doing that again. There's some ice on the Big Rink tomorrow, which is good since Pub Skate got relegated to the Small Rink. (Dumb.) Stitch is starting to drag, but he's just got to hold on for another half hour of Boring Beta. "Stay off the wall," I turn him loose on the ice. (He hangs on the wall, and when that happens, he goes off into his own world. That's when class gets "boring" for him.)

So, I watch Group Classes and Group Parents. My skating Saturdays always wind down with Light Entertainment. At least two moms were flapping their arms, several were tight lipped at the sight of clipboards, and the dads were bored. I watch Stitch, again blowing off the Coach and I give up.

Evals get done, and Stitch is dismayed by his paper. Back XO, both directions, "Needs improvement."

"But I did them," he says.
"Did you do them right?"
"UGH!"

We take off for home. Public Skating tonight, and some surprise Practice Ice tomorrow. I'll rework The List to do more program elements, and of course we will do stretching. A really great day, but it's really too bad that Dad didn't hit his target.

Final Practice Ice for Realz

Saturday morning, I get up a little late, linger in the shower too long, neglect to hustle Stitch, and before I know it we're on the wire of running late. But Dad had gotten up in the middle of the night and set up my new single cup coffee brewer, so thankfully there was hot and fresh coffee at the push of a button. (Love you, Dad!!) Did I mention it's my birthday? That's okay, I forgot, too. Stitch is slow and grumbly, but I remind him, "Hey, Jeremy Abbott is competing too. He's probably been at the rink for hours by now." Okay, might nto be true but you do what you have to.

We arrive at the rink, Gordon is naturally clonking in skates, the ice is open and Coach is nowhere. That's okay, now she won't know I was barely on time. Gordon's mom, whom I will call Ms. Valium, waves. "It's so early!"

"That's okay. Early is good."

"I don't know if it's good to get the boys up so early."

"Go to bed earlier." Night runs in both directions, sweetcakes.

Coach arrives, tells the boys to get on the ice and goes to the office to get her skates on. Ms. Valium is left standing at the closed office door with puppy eyes. "I don't know, do we...."

"Come on, boys, let's go," I shepherd them into the rink.

Ms. Valium follows. "But Coach isn't..."

"Go stroke around, warm up," I point to the ice. "Go, go. No toe pushes."

"That's HARD," says Stitch.

"Good, do hard things."

Coach has skates on and steps in. "Thank you."

I nod and go outside. Ms. Valium is standing with a guy, whom she introduces as Mr. Valium. Mr. Valium begins lauding Gordon's progress. "Boy, he's really getting smooth. Hard to believe it's come this far! Remember when they did that Funny March Routine? And they slid down on their knees? Boy, I loved Funny March. It's hard to slide down on your knees. They should do Funny March again. Was your daughter in with the tots?" he asks.

I've been tuning him out. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The tots? She was in with them?"

"No, that's my son," I point. "I don't have a daughter."

"Oh, I thought you had a girl."

Ms. Valium chimes in. "No, her son is the one who had the hat at the last competition. Remember?"

"The one who skated a level under Gordon?"

"Yes. At Pre-Alpha."

"Well, that's great. Boy, Gordon is a lot smoother than," and he pauses, glancing at me, suddenly aware of just who that mystery kid is. "Before. Coach says Gordon is really smooth, he's got a lot of polish."

"I'm going to get some coffee,"  I excuse myself to the vending machine.

Wouldn't you know Ms. Valium follows me. She navigates the coffee vending with tenuous hands, obviously new to the concept of "caffiene where you can find it."

We head back and now Mr. Valium and some other dude are talking about ISI versus USFSA. Shit. Mr Valium is dropping the "O" word. "So, USFSA is how you get to the Olympics then? Honey, is Gordon USFSA?"

"Oh, I don't know..." her eyes kind of glaze.

"If you're competing tomorrow, then yes, he is," I speak up. "USFSA is the way to go Olympic, if that's what you're going for. ISI is considered the more fun skating league, but the most challenging tests in figure skating are ISI, not USFSA. Freestyle nine and ten, I believe."

"I suppose we'll have to wait a few years before Gordon gets to that," Mr Valium looks out at the small ice.

"How do you know all this?" Ms. Valium asks. "Do you skate?"

"No, I have internet." And a desire to know about things I'm involved in.

Coach comes out. "Do you have music? We need music."

I get the CD and go into the rink while Coach fetches the CD player. There's a higher level freestyle group coming in, big girls and boys. Gordon is getting that terrified look in his eyes. I help Coach with the CD Player, thankful for the chance to get away from the Valiums, and she runs them through their paces.

Gordon tries his routine, but now the high level freestyle group is tearing around the rink at full speed. Set a stuffed fluffy bunny on a drag strip, and you have Gordon on freestyle ice. I laughed, I couldn't help myself.  Stitch tries his routine, and while he's more confident at dodging the whirlwind of Chloe Noels, it's hard to line up those damn three turns. That's okay, I get the distinct feeling we were brought here as a Security Blanket for Gordon anyway.

The lesson ended, Coach tosses out the boys and grabs her next kid. There's just no time for pleasantries today. The Valiums linger rinkside, waiting for what I don't know, while I take the boys out to the warm lobby. "So, you kids excited about tomorrow?"

"No!" they say.

"What? Why not?"

"Because I'm going to lose," says Stitch.
"I don't want third place," whines Gordon.

"What is going on here? Do you two really believe you're going to lose? How can you lose? Did you lose last time?"

"Last time I got second place," Gordon said.

"Last time I got two firsts."

"Coach says that this time we're gonna get a medal and a prize!" Gordon says to Stitch.

"Look, " I bring them back. "No one is going to lose. You're both going to do fine. Stop worrying, both of you."

The Valiums come back out looking deflated, and Ms. Valium starts talking about some practice ice at Home Rink tomorrow. "But they won't get to skate on the Big Rink at the Rink Across town," she laments. "And Coach can't be here with them. They should..."

"It's all ice. It's all the same size. I'm not worried." Besides. Gordon can't be on practice ice alone anyway. He's six. (HAHAHAhAHAHA!!) We head outside, it's bitter cold, and a dry snow is falling. Stitch stops at the car window, staring intently. I open the passenger door, toss in the skate bag and slam it shut. "Oh!" says Stitch.

"What? You okay?"

"You blew away the snowflakes."

I realize that this is that special kind of snow where every tendril and point of a snowflake can be seen. We paused for a moment, and look at snowflakes. When our fingers were too cold to move well, we came home for a proper breakfast. I made more coffee. I love buttons. Stitch gave me his present, a clay heart with the words, "Love is the key to this world" written in it.

It is what it will be, bitches.