The New Wednesday Night Lights

We arrived at the rink with Stitch in good spirits. Sure enough, as the days progress and we settle into a routine, he is arguing less and cheering up. I left a coupon in the booth and went to help Stitch jump the stairs. I hold his hand, as he's still unsteady on one foot. (Who wouldn't be?)

He's getting better. His leg strength is improving, and I'm proud of the effort he's showing, even if he does whine. And it shows on the ice. His jumps are higher, but right now there's a tradeoff; you either get height or line, but you don't get both.

We stepped out into the lobby to get skates on, and Coach Xan handed me an Ice Halo to try. Stitch loved it. He put it on and started butting his now Halo'd head against anything he could find. I sent him out with it, and honestly it looked like he had an ear warmer on. "I'm going to try and fall on my head!" he said confidently.
"Please don't," I replied helplessly.

But Coach would have none of it. She took it off of him and handed it back to me. I expected it. The fight for safe headgear will be a long crusade through the swamp of skating culture where line and cute trumps safe and secure. More on this later. I see both sides and this won't be easy.

Coaches, in case you noticed the parents grouped around the vom entrance to the rink, that's where we can get a weak wifi signal. So I watched casually while looking up stuff for work and Facebooking, and was very pleased with what I saw.

Stitch was working hard, doing as he was told, trying his best, and showing a side of himself I hadn't seen in awhile. He would miss an element, tug his hair and growl in frustration, but he'd try again quickly. He and Gordon worked through waltz jumps, started on Sit Spins, Salchows and Flips. And while Gordon may have the Stupid Duck better than Stitch does, Stitch can spin. I discreetly recorded some of it for posterity.

But all Golden Moments are just that, moments. Coach had the boys race the rink, which indicates that she's done. Ms V came over to me and began asking me how I get Stitch to do his homework. "I don't understand, I'm ready to cry some nights. It just takes forever. Last night it took three hours! What do you do?"
She didn't like my answer of "Steel yourself and slog through it. Sit on him if you have to."
"But, what if I let him fail once or twice, just to embarass him? Will that make him learn?"
"I tried that a few times, and I emailed the teacher to let her know I was doing it. But again, nothing happens overnight. Stitch is just now showing some improvement in motivating himself. You're in for a long fight."
"But I can't take it! This is so obvious! I don't have time to do this every day!"
"You make time," I looked at her. I felt her pain. There were nights I was ready to throw things at Stitch, nights I had to literally walk away to collect myself before returning to push his obstinate little nose to the homework grindstone. "Be tough. Be consistent. It will happen, but it's going to take time."

Coach came off the ice and went right for Ms V. "He did very well," she spoke of Gordon. "He learned a jump from Freestyle 3," she touted that to Ms V, and Ms V was suitably impressed.

Gordon is in Freestyle 2, which kind of surprised me since he was in FS2 over the summer while Stitch was gone.

I'd had a good day and was feeling my oats, so I just interjected myself into this happy little back patting session (which I typically get left out of.) "Hey, how about those jumps? Getting higher, I'd say!"
Coach agreed.
"I've been having him jump the stairs and jump at home. I think it's working."
"It is..."
Ms V, not to be outdone, marveled at how difficult the skating was getting. "I don't think I could do anything they're doing."
"No kidding, I'm learning crossovers and it's tough," I was definately in a good mood.
Coach gave me a look, which I couldn't tell was pleased or surprised.
I just blathered on. "I mean, I'm trying to get an outside edge better, and that sh*t is f*cking terrifying." It just fell out of my mouth.

Ms V looked at me in horror, and Coach had a laugh. "I think we're done."

The boys ate the candy Coach had given them and got skates off. Ms V told me how much she liked having the boys do lessons together.
"I do, too," I agreed.
"You do? You don't mind?"
"No, I never mind. Nothing makes me happier than having them together."
She looked at me strangely. "Really? You mean that?"
I looked at her straight. "I really mean that. The boys need to stick together. I will do anything I can to have them together. They learn better together."
"But Stitch is so much better..."
"No, they're about the same. Gordon's good at stuff Stitch isn't, and vice versa. They feed off each other. It's perfect."
"Oh. Well, I'll try to make this happen more often, but it's a long day," she sighed.
Lady, I've been up since 5:30am. Coffee is your best friend.

The Ice Halo was never mentioned, but I like it. Stitch liked it. I don't know if it may have lessened or prevented his one head injury (run in with the boards, ouch) but it's at least one line of defense. And it beats a bike helmet. Again, I'm still thinking about this one, but I will say that change of this sort never happens fast. Skating culture is really deep, and we're in for a long slog, just like Stitch and his homework. More on this later. Much more.

The boys rode their Zucas out of the rink, Ms V was exasperated and I was laughing. As ridiculous as it is, it is kinda funny. Once around the corner and in the safety of the dark, I grabbed Stitch and hugged him. "You did great today. Thank you for doing your best."
"Uh, okay," Stitch rolled his eyes. As he gets older, he has less and less patience for visible displays of maternal affection. (But he still likes his back rubbed during bedtime stories. Don't be fooled.)

Old and New Friday Nights

Stitch leaves again today. They're packing up now, heading back out, back up North. I'm sending Stitch back fully cleaned and laundered, knowing he'll come back sandy and bugbitten again. But the next time he comes back, it will be for good.

We went to the Rink again, one last time. Everyone was there. I got hijacked into the Adult Freestyle group, where I got schooled on exactly what I was doing wrong in my crossover attempts. It was pretty simple; I wasn't moving. So, just like the kids, I got my own little circle drawn out for me and I moved. I moved for an hour, stopping when my lower body just said "enough." Coach (not Stitch's) tried to get me to hold my feet together in the crossover, but I need more time. I think I did okay for a first night, and there's lots of ice today.

I went back into the small rink and found Stitch. He hadn't even realized I was gone. I hugged him and said, "Stitch, those things are hard. I promise I won't fuss at you again."
"Mom, what are you talking about?" he looked at me like I was insane and went back out to play with his friends.
I went out and showed Rink Pal my wobbly attempts, and Other Kid comes zipping up to investigate. "Oh, but you need to do Advanced Crossovers," he shows me the move that Coach was trying to get me to do. The one I can almost get.
I got down on one knee and took Other Kid by both shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Kid, I'm thirty four. It's my first real attempt. This is as good as it gets for now."
He blinked. "Oh, well, then you're doing really good!"

Stitch was playing with the girls, skating around with Other Kid, I was in and out of the lobby with Lady Cluck, making new plans for a Two Man version of Winter Show featuring The Nut and The Cracker which would only run ten minutes and we'd have an open bar in the lobby.  Whenever I'd linger too long in the Lobby, Rink Pal would come out and fuss at me. I think he enjoyed that.

Stitch had to be dragged off the ice. I had to help Rink Pal pull him off the door. He didn't want to leave, and I didn't either. Fall isn't far off, right? I left a note for Coach, with pictures from July and requests for thoughts on sewing patterns. I forgot to ask about whether or not I should register Stitch for the "Saturday Package" deal. It's a screaming bargain, but it means putting him in someone else's hands, someone I worry about. I think I'm going to have to be a pain and call.

When I got home I got a ping from the Facebook Group from the Summer Camp. Someone was posting pictures from one of my favorite sites. I remembered the Tip Test, and abject terror.

It's actually hard to capsize a canoe on calm water. You have to literally rock the boat as hard as you can on a count of three, holding onto the gunwales and then pull the damn thing over your head. My partner and I failed on our first attempt. We managed to tip the boat, but I hit my head which was scary as all hell as I descended into dark water, and CS got a jellyfish down the front of her swimsuit. So as I was fighting to come out from under the boat and not panic with a blow to the head, CS was screaming in pain and trying to wrangle a pile of goo out her top. We abandoned the boat and swam for shore, rubbing sand on the jellyfish sting and I got an ice pack.

But we had to try again. Four false starts. One, *rock* Two *rock*, Three, *no*. Finally the counselor yelled at us to stop wasting time and do it. CS and I looked at each other, I closed my eyes and said, "Okay."
"Okay," CS said back.

Eyes closed, One *rock,* Two *rock,* Three *down.* I got my head away from the gunwale quick enough to not get hit. I came out from under the boat and CS was already moving us to the other "rescue" boat nearby. The Tip Test is followed by Canoe-over-Canoe rescue, a move in which the capsized canoe, still upside down, gets hefted over a second canoe to empty it, turned over, and slid back into the water. The swimmers then have to get back into their boat from the water. Yes, CS and I had to pick up a boat while treading water. Water full of jellyfish that like to come up and enjoy the sun.

We got it done, though. Boat up, over, flip and back in. I let CS get in first, holding onto the opposite side while she dragged herself in. And then she leaned way over so I could get in. The Rescue Canoe gave us back our paddles and that was it. Test passed, and we had big strawberry bruises to go with our patches.

Please don't ask why we didn't just go to shore and empty the capsized canoe. We asked that same question, along with, "Why tie a sheepshank to shorten a rope? Why not just cut it? Or tie down the excess?" That's not the point. The point is to do the task at hand.

So, I'll practice some more tonight. Stitch will get back in late August, and maybe by then I'll have that side by side foot thing going on. I told him this, and he promptly asked, "Sure, but can you jump?"
"No. But I may be just stupid enough to try."

My head was hurting.

Humming more Abba Songs

It's been working up to being a tight summer at this Skating Family household. With Dad scrambling for work, and me already working full-time, there's little room for extras. In fact, I had already decided that Stitch wouldn't have a big birthday party this year. A cake and things at home, but no party.

The decision came at the end of a hard week. Work was and still is a juggling act of tight deadlines and manufacturers. At home, our eldest cat is slowly going downhill. I've been misty eyed, because while she had her issues, she's still my kitty. It made me even sadder to tell Stitch that we would celebrate quietly this year, and he was sad to hear it, but nothing I could do.

Then on Friday afternoon, my boss asked me if I had a few minutes to talk about "things." Well, what else can go wrong. He explained to me that the company was spoiled, and had relied too long on just waiting for customers to call. It was time to get an Outside Sales Person, and that they wanted me to do it. The position would be created slowly in the next few weeks, as people were moved around to compensate for me going on the road. I'd spend four days out of the office visiting people, and one day in the office doing officey things. While it wouldn't mean an immediate pay increase, the subject would be revisited later.

Then, a friend contacted me, needing some help clearing out an old theatre. One of the old tenants had passed away, the partner had decided he didn't want to do it anymore, and so the place was now in the care of the original organization who didn't know what to make of the piles of ancient theatre equipment. He said he'd pay me. I agreed to give him as many hours as I could.

Then, I got a phone message from someone wanting some beadwork done. She said she'd pay me. I agreed.

Then, Stitch got his birthday party. While I can't go into details, he's getting his party. It will be a surprise party on the Small Rink. With the hours I've worked this weekend, I can get his Zuca, too.

Saturday night I watched as five kids play around on the ice, pushing cones and shooting a pilfered water gun at each other, and I fought tears. Stitch was playing with his growing harem of girls and two hockey kids, all of them playing beautifully. It just felt so unreal. After all my worry and concern, everything began working out.



Coach gave Stitch a freebie on public ice this afternoon, and his skating has improved by leaps and bounds. I can't wait to see how he does for the Home Competition in a few weeks. I guess I should try to stop worrying about things and just keep going. When it was over, Stitch was still skating, spinning and jumping and laughing. One of our rink friends shut the ice door and Stitch didn't care. He laughed and kept going.

Everything is going to be okay.

A Good Ice Day

Yesterday, Stitch was worn out of the rink by the time Late Skate rolled around. He opted to stay home with Dad and play Monopoly while I went to the Rink to have Rink Pal try on his costume. I shortened sleeves and pinned up where I felt it should hem. We chatted briefly and I came home. Family Movie Night was the first Godzilla movie, and I fell asleep on the floor, which is a feat considering we have hardwood. I'd been going from eight to nine thirty, with just an egg sandwich, popcorn, and rum and coke.

I picked up some pink satin stretch at the fabric store, and I'm waffling between a Jacket and a true Shirt for Stitch's Pink Panther. I'm leaning towards Jacket, even though that would take some severe alteration of my existing pattern, and no one makes a Sport Coat pattern for boys.

Stitch was being lazy and crabby today, and while he rolled his eyes at going to the Rink, ("But I'll be there all weekend next week!") I told him he needed to practice and I was sick of him complaining he was bored. I think he was mostly bummed about not getting his patches the previous day.

As I suspected, Mysteria did not pass him. He couldn't figure out the mohawk combinations, and his penchant for doing really big crossrolls rather than true "test quality" edges is what got him. She said all the elements alone were fine, he just needed to put them together correctly. I took it, and Stitch's mad disappointment in stride, said we'd talk to Coach, and thanked her. "It's fine," I told him. "You can try again. It's okay."

But he was bummed out. And it's understandable. Mysteria told me that he could try again, perhaps after Ice show, that he was really close and that he wouldn't have to test the elements he passed again. The incomplete form is in her office, waiting.

We arrived and as I finished putting him in skates, the office staff turned on Michael Jackson. Well, off he goes, giving me a private ice show again, and it's like nothing ever happened. He was doing his half flips, his waltz jumps, and even trying the mohawk combinations that he missed the previous day. Hey, if MJ makes him practice while he plays, whatever. Coach caught me and arranged for a lesson before the Ice Drought begins, and she tried to get Stitch to do some backwards pivot thing, but he was too involved in doing his "show."

He did some jump from forward to backwards on one skate, which terrified the bejeezus out of me, but just made him laugh. He bought me a Diet Coke, we shared cookies in the stands, and it was just a nice respite from the stress of yesterday and the knowledge that my Mother in Law is coming for ice show next weekend. I like her, she's just... there.

A woman in the stands asked me if he was mine, and she called him adorable. "Does he take lessons?"
"Yes, he does privates with his Coach," I pointed, "And he does the Skating School. Are you coming to the show?"
"No," she said. "My son would just be jealous. He'd love to be in a show, but he plays hockey."
I didn't delve any further.

We're home, I'm about to make dinner, and I'm glad that costume is done. Tonight I do nothing but kitchen duty, and that sounds so relaxing.

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.

2013

Today I was in Full On Suburban Mom Mode. First stop, groceries. Then, Ice Show practice. Next, lunch and library. Further, Play Date Dropoff. Last stop, Rink again. I set up shop in the lobby with my beads and my computer, where I waited for Stitch and Lucy to arrive, and Coach to tell me what Stitch needed to practice.

Before long, my good friend Lady Cluck and her two daughters arrived, another of Stitch's classmates arrived with a birthday party, Fab Skater's mom sat down with us and we all chatted about the merits of hip flasks. After the first hour, Stitch and Lucy arrived from their playdate, we put skates on them and all five kids were on the ice. Lady Cluck and I stayed in the lobby where we talked and righted the kids as they came off the ice periodically to beg for candy and snacks and soda, and to whine about their non-injuries.

Coach arrived and told me she would talk to me after Public was done. That's fine. Lady Cluck agreed to take the kids to the playground while Coach and I talked, as I had to take Lucy home afterwards. Everything was going fine until Public ended and the kids came barreling out of the rink, all of them needing help with de-skating. Stitch had that look where he appeared to be close to tears. I knew what had happened but I let it go for lack of time. We could talk later. Lady Cluck and I worked as fast as we could, but Coach was faster so I had to pry off Stitch's skates and leave Lucy to her own blade drying. I threw three dollars at them for snacks and went to talk with Coach.

Lucy appeared just as Coach was going into detail about proper extension. "I NEED A NAPKIN!"
"GO TO THE COUNTER." I pointed.

Three seconds later she tossed her dirty napkin and empty candy wrapper at me, left her Zuca by our table and I was mortified. If Coach noticed, she didn't say anything. Stitch has better manners.

Coach talked me through a large and thorough list of Stuff Stitch must do on the ice. Stroking, crossovers, spirals, spinning, waltz jumping, etc. All stuff I tell him to do, but it hasn't been on a List so he's been getting confused. Now that I have something hard and defined, it should be easier.

I went to the playground, Lady Cluck and I ate cookies and watched the kids play, and slowly rounded them up to take them home. Lucy didn't seem to mind the fact I was driving The Beater that day, only commenting on the mess in the back. "It's my dad's car," Stitch explained. I dropped her off, setting her Zuca on the curb for her and wishing her a good evening. She turned on her heel and walked to her door, leaving her Zuca for me.
"Ahem," I said pointedly.
Lucy rolled her eyes and came back for her Zuca.

On the way home, I asked Stitch why he had been so upset.
"Because Coach grabbed me and wasted all my time to play with my friends."
Yup. "You played with your friends on the playground. You play with your friends every day at school. Ice time is precious, and time with Coach is even more precious. If she's giving time to you, that's pure gold. Don't complain about that, ever. Understand?"
"Yes." But it was a mad yes.
"You want to compete? You want medals and trophies?"
"Yes."
"Then you get them by practicing and doing what Coach tells you. You know that. I won't enter you in competitions if I don't think you have a shot at winning."
"But you signed me up for the July Open, right?"
"That paperwork isn't out. And again, I won't enter you if I don't think you'll have a chance at winning."
Silence.

We got home and made dinner. I sat down and prettied up The New List. It's long and kind of intimidating. But doable. Stitch and I went outside and I explained things. "You need to do this every time you get on the ice. I will talk to your guard friends and explain that you have to practice first, so they leave you alone, okay?"
Stitch is looking at it.
"Coach says you need to jump higher on Waltz jumps. Also you're not flexible enough, and you need to really work on Shoot the Duck."
"I hate shoot the duck."
"You can't do sit spins without shoot the duck. Right?"
"Yeah."
"So let's come out here at night and do some stretching on days you don't skate. Okay?"

Stitch set his lip. He took a Twizzler and pretended to smoke, studying The New List. Then he jumped rope, did spiral stretches, shoot the duck, waltz jumps, then asked me what was next.
"I don't know. I think we're done."
"No, that was only four things. There has to be more."
"I don't think so."
"I'm not giving up, " he says.
"On what?"
"On these twizzlers, or on this list."
"Well, that's good. But we can do more tomorrow."
"I want that gold medal."
"What gold medal?"
"The one with my name on it."
"In which competition? Do you even know?" I'm fearing the answer.
"The one in 2013," he says like I'm stupid.
"Oh. Well, that's a solid goal then. Do I have permission to be pushy on you to get it?"
"You already pushed me over on Shoot the Duck."
It's true, I did. "Yeah. So can I?"
"You don't have a license."
"I'll make one. 2013, huh?"
"Yup."
"Well, okay."

2013 it is.

First time for Everything

This afternoon I skated for awhile, but the days of snow shoveling and navigating icy sidewalks have taken a toll on my lower back so I broke off early. Just as well, I chatted with speedskating mom and watched Stitch do some high bunny hops and edgework. He does look for my nods if that was a good move or not. The speedskating team has a meet on the same day that Stitch competes next, so we'll book it back from the comp to watch our Speedskating friend do his thing.

I turned in time to see Stitch whale into a spin so fast he blurred. He drew back from it, blinked a bit as if thinking, "Did I just do that?"
He then caught my expression of "What the heck did you just do?" and he laughed. He tried it again a few times, but none were like that first one.

We came home and made a quesadilla dinner, watching the game, when Stitch marches out with his First Aid manual and says, "Mom, what is this?" He sits on the sofa and points to his foot.

There's a blister on his arch.

"When did that happen?" I ask.
"Uh, I think while skating."
"Well, congratulations! Your first skating blister! Does it hurt?"
"Only when you touch it like that!"
Okay, so I stop poking.
"So what do I do with it?" he asks.
"First off, don't pop it," I give him a quick rundown of what blisters are and their valid purpose in life. "Just put a band-aid on it and it will heal on it's own within a few days. You're off the ice at least until Wednesday, so that should be enough time. I'll stop by the store tomorrow and get some thinner socks for you. Looks like you're out of normal socks while in skates. Is that the foot you spin on?"
"No, but it's the one I land on."
"Okay." I don't really know what to do with this information, but it's something to tuck away.


Stitch is just looking at his foot.

"Hey," I try to encourage him. "When I was a backpacker, no one took you seriously until your feet were all torn up. And when I was canoeing, no one talked to you unless you had big strawberry bruises all up your thighs. Some injuries are good things."

Stitch still isn't convinced. Come to think of it, it does sound crazy.

A Moment of Rinkside Zen

Stitch doesn't want to go to Nationals. He wants to be on TV, and he wants to be Rink Guard.

He wants to be a Rink Guard, like, RIGHT NOW. Nothing lights up his day as much as when his Guard friends tell him to set out or pick up the cones. Whenever I look up at Public Skate and don't see him, he's usually in the lobby, skates dangling off the floor as he hangs off the office counter and begs for a Guard jacket. The Public Skating Manager can't wait to hire him, but there's at least five or six years before she can do that. "It's really sad when a seven year old can catch the folks with cameras faster than the twenty year olds," she sighs.

It's also sad that the Camera Hazards don't listen to the estute seven year old when he tells them it's dangerous. Just last week we had a cell phone fall and shatter into six pieces on the ice, every one of them a ticket to a broken limb or worse. The Go Anywheres don't listen to him either, as they traipse up onto the concrete, grinding off their edges and making me hate them just for that awful sound it makes. (Their resulting fallfest is Karma for my ear damage.)

They don't listen to him when he tells them not to linger near the Ice Door, which I've dubbed The Maul Zone. The Ice Door at public skate is crammed with parents filming the next Michelle Kwan, moms doing The Bird, boys in hockey skates upending themselves, blades flying everywhere, little girls in princess cotumes hanging onto the wall for dear life and Freestyle skaters just leaping through the throng without a thought to the stroller someone left just inches from the plexi. Yes, there's a baby in it.

They don't listen to him when he tells them not to cut through the middle, because that's for Practice. Is he practicing? No, he's too busy playing Rink Guard. But I don't mind. In fact, I think this is great.

If Stitch is picking up on my Service philosophy, that's fantastic. There's lots of ways he can earn his keep, and not all of them are a shade of green. If he wants to be a Rink Guard but is under the legal working age, let's talk about Work in exchange for Practice Ice. If he's a decent skater in coming years and can help Coach with her Tots, maybe they can work out a Coaching Exchange.

Me, I'm happy to throw myself where I'm needed. If I have something to do I'm less likely to whine and better than that, I'm not stuck listening to anecdotes about how wonderful Muffy is. I'm not really happy somewhere unless I'm being useful. So, sure, I'll pick up trash after a hockey game, let's talk ice coupons. I'll pitch in during Ice Show if it will make the Coaches keep an eye out for Stitch on Practice Ice.

It's not just material, though. I teared up last weekend as we were departing Public Skate. We passed one of the office staff ladies who is in a motorized wheelchair. I waved good night and walked on. Stitch didn't realize she was waiting for her bus, and he stopped. "Hang on a second," he says, running back to go hold open the door for her.

She laughed and explained that her bus wasn't there yet and it was too cold to wait outside, but thanks anyway. Stitch smiled and said good night.

"When we are in the habit of being peace, we naturally go in the way of service." So says Thich Naht Hahn. Be peaceful, Stitch. They'll listen to you someday, and I think the right people are listening now.

Lernin' my Place

I got the link to the Pro Pics today, and oh are they meltingly adorable. I have some great shots of Stitch with Coach at the ice door, his first "skateface" and the moment when he smiled at the judges. I can't choose, I'm just going to get the CD with all of them.

But I realized something.

In every baby picture, you're not far away. Even if you're not in the shot, your foot is, or your hand, or you're behind the camera or just out of view.

Not these pictures.

I look at these pictures of my kid doing really cool things and I know that not only am I at least forty feet away, we're separated by walls of plexiglass and Coach. If something happens, he's on his own to fix it and carry on. It's not me who decides how good of a performance he did, that's up to the judges, people I don't know and who aren't interested in me at all. He won't answer to me about his mistakes, that's Coach's job. I knew his composure fell apart a little doing the three turns, but I'd never in a million years say it to him. I'm pretty sure Coach saw it, too. I have to let her handle it.

I've told Stitch a million times that if he wants me to leave during lessons, just say so and I'll go. He says he wants me around, but I've been able to slip away without him noticing more and more frequently. My goal with running Practice Ice is to eventually reach a day where he won't need my help.

It's not that I'm uninvolved. Out of the Rink, I'm listening and advising, encouraging and doing logistics. It's when the skates hit the ice that's when I'm literally on the outside looking in. But that independence is like that day when he realized he could reach the cookies, the expression on Stitch's face was indentical to the ones in every single one of his pro pics.

The biggest grin ever.

Yup, I'm just along for the ride. Let's just hope it doesn't end up like this.

And here it is...

"Hey mom?"
"Yeah?"
"I think I do want to do the competition in March."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good. We can think about new music. I can cut some Black or White for you."
"What part are you going to cut, the black or the white?"

That's my boy.

Sweetest Skate EVAR

Stitch was momentarily distressed when Coach called him in for a few minutes of mini-lesson, but I assured him that 1) I didn't know that would happen, 2) that he should be honored by a Coach that gives him free lessons and 3)I'd speak to her about our agreements off the ice. (I caught her after Public skate and told her why Stitch was so angry. Coach rolled her eyes at the notion of a "play day," but agreed to honor them anyway.) Then Darling showed up and all distress was forgotten.

We met Darling over the summer. She's Stitch's age, about the same skating level, instructed by her dad, and just one of the most adorable girls ever. Shirley Temple in marabou Riedells couldn't out-cute this girl. She and Stitch really hit it off, and they pal'ed around the rink from June to August. Once fall came, she went back to her Dad in some other state, with promises to return every so often. Today was Stitch's lucky day. Darling was back.

Darling and Stitch raced around, harassed the Guards, hit the concession stand for candy and ice cream, and went to center where she, Stitch and PrepSchool jumped and cavorted and spun in cute games of daring and skill. PrepSchool, who lately has a stack of "practice cards" of some sort (which just wasn't going to happen on a crowded day like today) left to go try and get some work done. Stitch then coaxed Darling to join him in his "interpretive dance," as Hockey Pal likes to call it. They danced for a half hour, but in my mind I was watching something better than Meryl and Charlie.

I was sitting in the stands, watching and thinking, "My god, I could dress them as Dorothy and Scarecrow, put on 'We're off the see the Wizard,' and they wouldn't even have to skate. The judges would just hand them the damn trophy." This is just further proof that I am not in charge of the skating. Stitch would never allow this, and Darling would just give me a look. 

Oh well. In other news, the entire Nutso clan has traded in their moonboots for real Figger' Skates. "Wants to play Hockey," my ass.