Our Jump Rope is SubPar

At this point, Stitch is pretty well outfitted as a skater. He's got the pants, the jacket, the Zuca, the guards, the soakers, a billion gloves, thin socks that he always loses, and some trophies.

His jump rope, however, is apparently not appropriate.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to locate a simple, reasonably priced jump rope for a child? Not a "yoga" jump rope or a weighted jump rope for adults, but a simple child's toy.

I wanted this.

I do not need this.

I searched Target for what seemed like hours, before giving up and going to World Market for some wine. We actually found one there, a playful business with little children painted on the handles. Sure, why not.

On arrival at Practice Ice one day, I handed Stitch his jump rope and told him to go at it. Stitch starts jumping and Other Kid is on him. "Why do you have a jump rope? You don't need a jump rope until Freestyle five!"
Stitch ignores him, so Other Kid hits me.
"WHY DOES HE HAVE A JUMP ROPE? HE DOESN'T NEED ONE YET!"

"Our Coach says differently, that's all. So he has a jump rope. If your Coach says you don't need one yet, that's fine, too."

Other Kid is flummoxed and starts asking Stitch if he can try it. The two of them start goofing off, and some other Cute Girl Skater comes over with her jump rope to join them. Her Jump Rope is more professional, red plastic and no kids painted on the handles. She notes Stitch's jump rope, and says he needs a better one.

Stitch, eight year old Stitch, thinks this is insane. "It's a jump rope! You jump it! Does it matter?"

Cute Girl Skater insists that it does.

I'm overhearing all this and laughing.

No matter what you've got, someone else has something better. As the song goes, it's not having what you want, it's wanting what you've got.

The Hitch with Stitch

Stitch has been actively engaged in Off-Ice conditioning for the past two weeks. Not the "front yard running" and "stretching with mom" stuff, but hard core jumping and running and lord knows what else. I don't know because I haven't been there. He says it's hard.

Dad got to go to one of the classes last week. I called when I was sure it was over and asked how it was. Dad sounded a bit terse.
"What's wrong? Is everyone okay?"
"Yes. She made me do it."
"Who made you do what?"
"Coach. She made me jump up and down the stairs."
When I collected myself, I picked the phone back up again I asked why.
"Because she says I need to show him how to do it. He can't do it on one foot."
"Can you?"
"I threw my shoulder out."

The mental image of Dad affronted by a pack of tiny figure skaters who can jump up a flight of stairs on one foot, versus a hardy stagehand who is quite capable on both feet, is hilarious. Dad had given it his best shot, and made it up three.

It's true. Stitch can't quite manage it yet. Coach is telling us, "All the girls can do it. Why can't he?"

Well, I have some ideas. One, this is new. Give it time. We have all summer. Two, either he doesn't see the point of this exercise and can't understand why we're insisting that this is fun (it clearly isn't, jumping in the front yard is fun), or he sees pretty clearly what's coming down the pike and he's a bit scared. I understand both of these things. Three, he's a boy and doesn't possess a girl's innate desire to please her teachers. Boys do things on their own terms, so we have to figure out how to meet him halfway.

Last night after Public Skate, Dad was studying the benches. "Coach says he has to hop from the floor to the bench," he told me. "That's half his height. Is she kidding?"
"No. I've seen kids smaller than him do it."
Dad took both Stitch's hands and got him to jump, with Dad pulling him midway. Stitch was laughing and protesting, wanting to play with one of his friends and eat cookies. Now was not the time, so we headed out. Dad, in his manhood or something, was determined to prove that this either wasn't possible or that he was manly enough for the task. While Stitch and I went for the car, Dad began looking at the landscaping boxes that bank the building. The cement walls are about mid-thigh on him, almost the same as Stitch's "jump the bench" challenge.

Stitch and I watched, and I waited. This wasn't going to end well. Dad jumped the cement wall, landing squarely on both feet. "See! I can do it!" he's obviously proud of himself. "Now you have to do it, Stitch," he jumps back down.
Stitch rolls his eyes and gets in the car.
The moment Stitch is out of sight, Dad crumbles. "Oh, god my knees."
I'm dying with laughter.
Stitch is absorbed in birthday presents that arrived in the mail, done with all the jumping for the day. He laughs at us both and we head home. One of his gifts was a new Owly book, signed by Andy Runton himself with a beautiful illustration of an Owly birthday party. A good day.

What began as an exercise to prepare Stitch for the arrival of single jumps in the fall has evolved into a Family Challenge. Dad's jumping, I tried it but I'm not sure I can get too far with my heart being what it is, and Grandma looked at us like we expected her to flap her arms and fly to Venus.

According to the ISI curriculum, the first single jump learned is in Freestyle 3, The Salchow. I know it's an edge jump, but please don't ask me to ID it in competition. After single jumps they all become "double twist things" to me, even if they're quads.

Stitch can make it all the way around on both feet, even on the ice. He does it to scare me senseless, and he knows it. I think I can use this.

Running Shoes

Stitch, if you will recall, is not kind to his shoes. He will tear through a pair in a matter of weeks, shredding the soles, flattening the shoe and destroying any lacing or velcro. That's just how he rolls. The last pair of shoes I bought for Stitch was a pair of heavy duty boots. I figured those had a fighting chance, and they've held up pretty well. I was happy, until Grandma told that Coach had ordered "running shoes."

"She says those boots are too heavy for running the stairs," Grandma says.
"The weight builds leg muscle."
"Just get a pair of running shoes, because I'm afraid she'll hurt me."

So we head out to Target and the craft store. Grandma wanted to find some quilt batting, as she's making a commemorative quilt to celebrate Pink Panther. I think this is fine, given the extraordinary amount of work that's gone into this one. (But I have to say, I'm on my tenth quilt that the quilting grandmas have made. I don't have much in the way of luxuries, but I do have a shitload of quilts.)

"Oh, and I found boy figure skater fabric online," Grandma tells me in the car.
"Wow, that's cool."
"It's been discontinued."
"Figures."

Stitch is in the back, playing DJ with his MP3 player and the car radio converter thingie.
"Can I get something from the craft store?"
"Maybe. Depends on what we find."

So we're in the store, wandering, while Grandma is inspecting batting. "Can I get this?" Stitch holds up something random and terrible.
"No."
"Can I get that?"
"No."
"You always say no."
"Yes."

And then he laughs. We get to the summer toys aisle and I grab him a tube of glow sticks and a bottle of Giant Bubbles. (The wand is bigger.)

We're off to Target, and Stitch has been bunny hopping through all the parking lots. He is hopping and spinning. "For someone who claims to be so tired during lessons, he's full of energy the rest of the day," Grandma observes.
"Stitch, we know you're acting," I clue him in. "Even Coach knows. She told me."
His eyes get wide. "My secret is out!"

I get him a pair of running shoes, and he was gleeful that they lit up. "We have to get these!"
"I don't know if the light up thing..." I waver on the flair.
Grandma looks at me. "Get these. She deserves these."
I realize she's referring to Coach and it's settled.
Stitch bunny hops back through the store, I get him a treat at checkout and suddenly I'm "best mom ever" again.

Back in the car, Stitch plugs in all his music apparatus, eats candy and plays his Skating Theme Song.



"Coach says we have to go back tomorrow," Grandma sighs.
"Yes. But the street fair is on, so you can hit that afterwards."
"We're usually wiped out after skating."
"I want to go to the street fair!" Stitch says.
"Fine," I say. "But wear your boots. Save your new shoes for skating things, okay?"
"Why?!"
"Because I said so." And so they last longer than two weeks.

Stairway to Somewhere

For the past year and a half I and many other parents have all bidden our children, "Do NOT run up and down the stairs!" We usually do this in loud voices and admonish them with tales of newly brain damaged kids who ran and fell down the aforementioned stairs. Every time I see one of those bigger Skaters running up and down the stairs to warm up, I cringe and pray that they don't trip and fall. Even I can't make it down the stairs without careening every so often.

Yesterday, (and this is told through Grandma, I wasn't there) Stitch became one of those kids. Coach apparently had him run the stairs, jump the stairs, jump some of the stairs on one foot, and then do push-ups. He has been directed to do this, and "practice his jumps" every time before he skates. "She says we have to get there early and do this," says Grandma.

Great, I will buy him a bubble wrap suit and a helmet. I hate those friggin' stairs.

"Oh, and Coach is a year younger than me," says Grandma.
"I knew she was older, but she sure as hell carries it well," I said, making dinner. Grandma has some issues, including bad knees and age denial. We joke about it constantly.
"Yes. She told me. Then she told me I had to be in shape, because I had a young grandson." Grandma was not amused by this remark.
I laughed for five minutes solid. When I dried my tears I returned to stirring chicken. "Well, you could walk more."

Grandma told me about the workout, the skating, how she had to traverse the stairs once for a moves ticket which I was unaware of and again for music. I didn't think they were going to do the program, but whatever. "Oh, and Coach yelled at the people in the booth."
"The ice monitors? Why? What were they doing?" Oh god, I miss everything good.
"They didn't see Stitch wave. They were too busy talking."
"Yeah, that's lame."
"Then they didn't see Coach wave."
"Uh oh."
"So she yells, 'WOMEN! STOP TALKING!'"
Again, I collapse in hysterics.
Grandma keeps going. "And then some other lady walks right up to me and demands to know who I'm with."
"Okay."
"I point to Stitch and suddenly she's real nice. She says, 'Oh! He's good! How long has he been skating?' and I tell her about a year and she doesn't believe me. But she seems to know him."
Damn, I'd give money to know who she was talking to. "Well, that was nice of her to say."
"That place is crazy."
"Just a bit."

That was just her first day at the rink, and Stitch's first day of actual conditioning. Apparently they came home and collapsed into word puzzles for the afternoon, exhausted. The two of them may have some really good stories by the end of the month. 
 

Jumping

Stitch wants to jump. Bad. Last week I nearly had to restrain him in the grocery store as he was trying full rotation jumps next to the jarred pasta sauces. Winter has been agony with iced over sidewalks and me screaming, "NO JUMPING! STOP RUNNING! WALK!" which always sends me into mental fits because I'm stopping him from jumping on ice, which is ultimately what he wants to do. I can't wait for any semblance of Spring, so I can turn him loose again. (And those Spinning Poles on the playgrounds make for remarkable spin trainers. When people ask me how he can spin like that and not be dizzy, I point to the spinning poles in the playground across the field. Stitch spends hours on them.)


Sunday night I showed Stitch the video I took of his program. "It looked good," I said. "Crossovers and stroking were a bit weak, which is probably why you got second. But a good performance. Loved the ending."


"But I had the best spin," he protested.

"Sure, but you can't count on one element to win. They all have to be good."

He walked away.

Later, I was cleaning up the Thai food we had ordered, and Stitch was doing waltz jumps behind me.

"Stitch, you're going to bother the neighbors."

He kept jumping.

"Stitch. Why don't you do more of that on the ice and less of it in my kitchen?"

"Dunno."

"Why don't you talk to Coach and make that a part of your next program, instead of a spin? I think that's a solid goal."

"Hm."

The July Comp at Home Rink will be an ISI comp. So it will be different rules. He may be competing at a Gamma level, which is fine because he can still do a pretty good program with just crossovers, fancy turns and perhaps some (ugh) toepick hops. (Me, I want to try some dye tricks with black crystal accents.) ISI rules state that anyone in the Alphabet levels can do one and only one move from Freestyle 1. Choose between Two Foot Spin, Waltz Jump or Spiral. This is their idea of a challenge, but most girls pick up spirals like it's their job, so what you end up seeing is a bunch of basic elements connected by endless spirals. Stitch is okay at Spirals, but he kills at spins.

It's a rare thing for a Alphabet level kid to do a Waltz Jump, but I think Stitch can pull it off. We have three months, and he's got them once he learns to actually JUMP and not step into a back one-foot glide. So, if he does ISI with a waltz jump, he can't rely on that Tasmanian Devil spin anymore.

Stitch jumps all the time. Full rotation, half rotation, trying to land on one foot, etc. But for all his play practice jumping, something is stopping him on the ice. If he's afraid, I get that, and it's something he's got to work through. Perhaps setting that as a goal for the July Comp is a solid bet, and performing it may help him get over his fear of jumping. My own fear of him jumping will never die. I will always view Toepicks as inventions of evil, and whenever Coach mentions "doubles" I get faint.

Oh well. Pass the smelling salts.

We Interrupt Your Skating Routine...

Yes, we got socked with the snow. We got it pretty bad. The streets are mostly impassable, piled high with crumbly, brittle snowpack. Cars are buried everywhere and the parking situation is tenable. If you have a space, hang into it for dear life until the plows clear the streets. So no car. If it were in the thirties, I would have advocated walking to the rink, but it's in the single digits. Nope.

Stitch approached me as I was making dinner. "Um, isn't there practice ice today?"
"Well, there was, but we missed it. You were playing outside and I thought you'd been cold enough for one day."
"Oh. What about public skate?"
"There's some tonight, but I don't want to move the car and it's too cold to walk."
"Oh. What about this weekend?"
"There's lots of ice this weekend. If we can make it, there's practice ice and lessons, and we can try to make all the public skates we can."
"Okay."  He spins off. Add that to him doing his Spiral Stretching while raiding the last of my vanilla wafers, and I'd say he was missing the rink.

Hopefully this winter blast will be one of the last and won't interfere with his practice schedule too much! Maybe I can appease him byt encouraging him to really work on his off-ice stretches more.

Watching Skating

Stitch typically does not like to watch ice skating. He likes to skate. Which was why I hesitated when Coach suggested that I get IceNetwork and have him watch the Trophee de Bompard (or something), an event of the Senior Grand Prix of skating. But I did it anyway. I figured I could watch the events that we missed while I cook Thanksgiving or sew. Last night I turned on the NHK Trophy while we ate dinner.

Stitch watched between making little notebooks from a larger, preshredded notebook. "These people skate better than me," was his first line of commentary.

I said yes, but they had also been skating for many years, most of them starting right at the age he was now. And all of them started out doing swizzles.

He watched for awhile, and then some truly ridiculous costumes came on and I couldn't resist. "What is this? It looks like a box of band aids barfed all over him. Who is this guy? He looks like Ming the Merciless."

Stitch loves it when I go off like this. He was laughing and watching and not liking the slow choices of music. "Too slow, too corny," he would say. Then he came out with: "I want to win the NHK Trophy."

"Well, if you do decide to try for it, I won't dress you like a science fiction villain."

He then started asking, nay, demanding to go downstairs to jump rope and do stretches. Coach has indicated that he needs to do stretches at home. Obviously she told Stitch as well as me. When I've tried this in the past, Stitch didn't take it seriously, so I stopped. But this time, Stitch dutifully jumped rope forward and back (with limited success but he's getting better) and tolerated the stretching with a minimum of complaints. The basement was big and we echoed loudly, but as it's winter and cold out, this was the best option. We used the bike rack as a ballet barre and the stains on the floor for jumping exercises. I'll bring down some chalk next time and he can do dot drills.

We came back upstairs and watched the awards ceremony for the men. Stitch was upset that Jeremy Abbott took second and not first. I rolled my eyes and put him to bed. Dream big, Stitch.