Operation TCOYS

The Boys did Practice Ice on Tuesday. I was not there. Usually when Dad does Practice Ice, I'll check and reorganize the Skate Bag, since the myriad of skating accessories don't make it back into their proper places and chaos ensues when I take Stitch back to the Rink.


Sadly, I lapsed in checking the Skate Bag Tuesday night. What followed last night was worse than chaos.

The wet skates had not been dried and no one had put soakers on them. Worse, they had been placed not on the towel in the bottom of the bag, but on the plastic bag that holds all the gloves and socks. There were big nasty rust spots.

"Stitch," I held up an offending skate. "These are your skates. It is your responsibility to care for them, dry them and store them properly after each time you skate. I'm not always around to do it for you."

Stitch threw a mini-fit. "Rust?! I can't skate in those! Sharpen them! Sharpen them now! How can I do crossovers? How can I do three turns?"

"Stitch. The rust will skate off after a lap or two, but this is only a day's worth of damage. Imagine if we had left them until Saturday. You think your little butt is well acquainted with the ice now, imagine working with Coach in this crap. YOU are going to have to take responsibility for this, because Dad doesn't know. I can only have them sharpened so many times before they wear out, so we want to avoid sharpening unless they're dull from skating, not rusty from being lazy."

Stitch whined while I unlaced the skate. The laces were tight down to the toes, which told me that Dad had once again ignored my directive to unlace all the way down. Again. This meant that he had fought the skates on and off, further wearing down the padding on the tongue of the boot.

I don't make up this shit for frunz. I don't do it to complicate people's lives. I do it to lengthen the life of expensive equipment. It's terribly frustrating when The Boys either don't understand or completely blow me off. It's sad that I have to be around in order to assure that things happen. I can tell the both of them right now that I am not going to bother with boots or blades any better than what we have if they won't be taken care of.

Okay, so my next project: Operation TAKE CARE OF YOUR SHIT. I've devised a Post Skate Checklist, which will be put on a luggage tag on the Skate Bag.

1. Dry Skates with washcloth.

2. Put Soakers on blades

3. Skates go in the bag FIRST

4. Put all gloves and socks into the zip bag.

5. Put zip bag and Skate Jacket into bag.

6. Check surrounding area for lost items before you leave.

7. Take skates, gloves, boot covers and soakers out of bag and set to dry when you get home. Put socks into hamper.

Sadly, with Boys, this is what it often comes down to. It's not passive agressive, it's reality. If the list isn't followed, then whine all you want about Rusty Blades, don't say I didn't warn you. There will be absolutely no Bunny Soakers in Stitch's future if I find rusty blades again.

Equipment Issues, Ice Show, The Escape Artist

Stitch loves to T-stop. Loves to T-stop endlessly on his right foot. He's not Snowplow stopping anymore unless he's trying to snowplow someone, so all stops are now t-stops.

As a result, his right skate boot is soaked by the end of any skating session. I've noticed it, and I'm concerned. I asked Rink Pal if this would pose a problem, and he seemed to think that since Stitch would outgrow the boots within a year anyway, it probably wouldn't matter. I'm still worried, as now the sole of the right boot seems permanently discolored. I take them out of the skate bag, pull off the soakers and set them out to dry, but all this water does seem to be doing some damage.

Worst case scenario, the sole could crack and not hold the screws, making the blade loose. Should the blade come loose when Stitch is pulling his terrifying galloping or jogging act, that would be disastrous. I've noticed that his Right Foot is also the foot he's picking to do one-foot spins on, so that sole has got to remain solid as he and Coach start working on those.

I called the skate shop and arranged for a sharpening this weekend. I'll ask them to take a look at that sole and let me know what needs to be done, if anything. This situation ranks right up there with going to the mechanic or the dentist, because I'm well aware that the worst case will be costly.

In the meantime, I'll be begging Stitch to please t-stop on the left foot for awhile.

Last night was Ice Show rehearsal. Richie Rich's mom and dad hovered by the window, with Mom in her furs gliding in to take a picture every now and then. We hovered by the window for awhile until Stitch began glaring at me and making hand signs that he didn't want to be watched. Dad and I had been dismissed! So we stood back and chatted with Rink Pal and Ice Dad (whose kid just qualified to compete in Junior Nationals in Ice Dance.) Ice Dad looks like a deer in the headlights, it's kind of fun.

Later on, two moms joined in, and we talked about costumes. I mentioned the requirement that boys supply their own black pants, and how I'd made Stitch's pants out of a peachskin suede that was nice.

"You can make them?" one mom asked.

"Uh, yeah."

"Can you make some for us?"

"Sure. Bring me the materials, and I'll charge you twenty bucks for labor." I gave her  list of the supplies I'd need, and to check in with me Saturday at next rehearsal. Without even thinking, I'd made forty bucks. I'll measure the boys Saturday, but they're roughly the same size as Stitch.

Stitch wanted to go back to public skate to play. So we ran out for a quick dinner, and ran back to the rink so Stitch could gallop and fly free for awhile. He showed dad his hops, and he spun whenever the girls vacated the center. (I keep telling him he can go center whenever, but those girls are sort of annoying.)  I meandered the rink, went and sat with Speedskating Mom and watched her boy practice for awhile. They have a meet in March that everyone will be at! I noted the time, and then went back to the small rink. I held up my scrolling sign on my phone at Dad: "HOMEWORK."  Time to go.

If you've never seen two grown men attempt to corner and pin a small boy who is remarkably quick on ice skates, you're missing something. Stitch darted and sped off, escaping Dad and Rink Pal with squeals of laughter. Finally Rink Pal cornered him, and Dad grabbed him. Stitch grabbed his skate blade, peeled off some ice and tossed it up at Dad. I was in hysterics.

Rink Pal said goodbye, and "see you this weekend." Ice Show rehearsal is every Saturday from now until Showtime. (Stitch also has a lesson Saturday morning before rehearsal.)

I came home and put Stitch's nose to the grindstone on homework. Three tries to get it right, and sent him to bed. I just about finished the Gunther Gabel Williams shirt, all that's left are some snaps. (Dad insists that this is a misnomer, Gunther Gabel Williams didn't wear shirts.) I'll start cutting the black shirt tonight. Perhaps I can sell shirts, too.... Hmmm. There's definitely a market out there!

 Gunther did wear shirts. Sort of.

New Skates

Well that was Easy

Contrary to my first two visits to the Skate Shop, this was actually easy. I wasn't treated dismissively and K got some great skates. I mean, GREAT skates.

We got there a little early, as I had padded the time of the trip by fifteen minutes to allow for lights, accidents, me getting lost, that stuff. None of that happened. I pull into an empty lot and we settle in to wait. Within a few minutes, a big black Lexus SUV pulls up next to me with a mom, a dad, and a bouncing little girl inside.

Oh crap, here we go.

Mom and Dad wait in the car for a few minutes, then get out as the clock ticks nearer to opening time. Now, the door sign states "Closed." I work in a retail environment, and CLOSED means WE'RE FUCKING CLOSED AND YOU ARE NOT COMING IN. I get that, and so I respectfully stayed in my car to wait, where we watched clouds and the amazing blue sky. Mom and Dad, however, were peering into the windows, knocking on the glass, and tugging on the door. See "CLOSED" point I made prior.

I wondered if skating parents, by the fact they often spend money out their gilded assholes, believe themselves to be unfettered by trivial things like CLOSED signs. I believe I had my answer.

At opening time, the sign was flipped to OPEN and I saw them being let in. I popped the trunk, and a train went by.

"THAT WAS AN AMTRACK!" K shouted.

"Do you want to wait for a minute and see if another goes by?" I wanted to spare him exposure to the crystalline pink sweet of a tiny girl skater and her entitled parents. The last time this happened, mom was an utter bitch who must have known I wasn't even close to her tax bracket.

"YES!" K agreed to wait for a moment.

I stuck my head in the door, where, sure enough, Princess Sparklypoo was flurrying over spinners the Zuca Bags. The pink ones. I'll write about the Ultimate Scam that is the Zuca Bag later. "We're here for a fitting, but he's waiting to see if a train goes by," I explained briefly.

The store people understood.

But no train came, and so unfortunately we had to go in and listen for a moment as they agonized over a pink frame and which spinner to purchase.

A nice man sat down with us to talk skates. K volunteered that he was in Pre-alpha, but doing spins and jumps and crossovers. Nice Man agreed that a lace-up was in order. He measured and thought, then disappeared.

Then the unthinkable happened. He came out with a pair of Boy Skates, USED!! "I have these, they might work."

"GOD BLESS YOU," I was so relieved. I was anticipating the worst, $150 to $200. These were $70, and they were nice skates.

Mumsy and Daddums heard my proclamation of relief, and they shot me a look. I wondered if Used Skates had ever graced their child's feet.

The man laced them up, K walked around for a bit and declared them good. The blades were examined, and were in such good shape as to not need a sharpening that day. We got a coupon for a free sharpening later on.

Princess bought her Pink Zuca and Pink frame, while I waited to be rung up. The man was even kind enough to put together the new blade guards for me. (I lost the last pair. bad me. Yes, they have to be assembled. Cut first, then screwed together. It's so lame.)

It's an odd juxtaposition; K's new-to-you skates which were a bit scuffed, versus a Zuca fitted out with glitter and gold accents. Money is a part of this culture, like it or not. I often wonder at the wisdom of pursuing this in the first place. Monied people are often not good people, and to expose my fragile K to some of the unintended meanness might be hard. But hey, this is all about growing up, right? Right.

I left feeling good. I'd saved a buttload of money, and was walking out with skates. I was ready to be waiting for four weeks, because that's what they told me about needing to order boy skates. We went to Target for beverages and shoe polish, and to kiss the day off right, Target was now selling boy's compression shirts for $10.

K was going to look like a pro today.

Sometimes I feel like the universe is with me. She's on my side, giving me what I need when I need it. Now that we're home, I saw the "Wilson Excel" on the blades. These are $60 blades. The boots are Riedell of some quality; the soles are not PVC. Buying these new would have been out of the question.

But the stars aligning also makes me wonder about fate. Is it fate? Was this "Meant to Be?" Saint Lidwina, is that you? If it is, then I thank you.

Back to the rink in a half hour, to try new skates!

Buying Skates

Today (yes, actually today) is skate fitting day. K's Riedell Soft Series Skates were clearly meant for a little boy who doesn't skate as often or as hard as K does. The Velcro is curling up and around, losing its power of stick. So, I'm taking him up to the far suburb of Neverwhere, to the pro shop.

There, a kindly woman or man will measure his feet and recommend a skate that will surely unbalance my budget for the next month or so. The kindly woman or man will also speak to me with "the tone." It's not quite patronizing, as it shouldn't be because I'm paying for this, but it's also not quite friendly. It's the Skating Mom tone.

Let me explain. Let's go back to the first time I bought K skates.

After the terrible debacle of trying to get the right size skate at the rink, I determined to have K fitted for his own skates. I just didn't trust myself to size them and lace them on my own, and I was scared of my own parental ineptitude against the forces of gravity and ice.

So I did some research online and found a place that sells ice skates. Just ice skates, and just Figure Skates. I emailed, made an appointment, and off we went. (We'll go into the cost of skates and how I almost shat myself later.)

We drove up there on a warm March evening, drove into an empty and small lot, and strolled into an empty shop where a man was at a grinder.

"Hi, we're here for a skate fitting." I said nicely.

"Great, have a seat."

K and I sat down. K was in a mood. Great.

As we were waiting, another family walked in. A mom, a large dad on a cell phone, and a twiggy daughter. The Daughter sat down, and the mom went to the counter. "She needs new boots," she pointed to the quiet girl.

"Ah, okay." The man made a call, whereupon another man came out.

"Hi there, *insert name of Twiggy*" the second man greeted them. "New boots?"

They struck up a conversation about boots, one where the girl didn't speak, and soon an assortment of white boots where being tried on. The mom dominated things, and dad took multiple calls on his cell phone, excusing himself outside about every five minutes.

The first man sat down in front of K. He tried to talk to K, but K was refusing to speak for some reason. I explained that we'd just started skating, he went to the Royal Crown Cola rink, and he liked it. (You'd never know that if you saw him sitting there, unmoving and unspeaking.) I knew what it looked like. I was THAT MOM.

I listened to the conversation next to us.

Girl: Mom, I don't think I need new boots.
Mom: But Honey, you're not landing your jumps. This might help.
Girl: I just don't think...
Mom: We're already here, they're on your feet. How do they feel.
Girl: ...

The man recommended a beginner skate, a soft booted skate. He brought them out and had K walk around in them for awhile. "This will be fine for him," The man shrugged. "It's a half size too big, but just put him in some heavy socks."

Great. Room to grow in. Perfect. K was smiling now.

The other mom, the big one with the Twiggy Daughter, she noticed what was going on. "How old is he?" she asked.

"He's six. He just started," I said politely. This woman scared me.

"Oh, enjoy this!" She cooed. "This is when it's fun! He's so cute!"

This is when it's fun? When is it not fun? I looked at her daughter, who was staring down at a white boot and wriggling uncertainly. Twiggy gave me an uncomfortable, yet polite smile.

The dad came back. "Oh, skating is great," he gruffed. "She's gotten so much out of it. They learn so much. Right honey?"

Girl: ...

"And now is when you can relax and enjoy it," Mom continued.

"Well, I'll remember that," I tried to politely wind this conversation down.

The clerk was sharpening K's skates, and I was now anxious to leave. I glanced around at the walls. "Do we need," I pointed to the weird blade guards.

"Nah, you don't need that stuff," the clerk said dismissively. "You could get a soaker if you wanted to, but you can just throw a towel in the bottom of the bag."

Somehow I got the feeling that these people didn't expect to see us again. K was getting tired and now back in a mood. Well, I could never accuse them of upselling.

We left, new skates in hand. Twiggy and her mom were still arguing about boots, and mom was saying that she liked the trophies, not the medals. I gunned the engine.

Back to today. I'm wondering what they'll say today. And I wonder how I'll feel about it. Will we get the same dismissive attitude, or will I be sold the light up blade guards?