The Hospice Weeks

Strange things have been happening lately. I'm busy at the office. I'm busy at home. And somewhere between working, running errands, shuttling back and forth from the rink, cooking, cleaning, and running a home and raising a kid, I got the flu.

Stitch had come down with some mysterious illness for a few days, wherein he ran a high fever and lay lethargic on the sofa. He drank orange juice and slept, and I just blissfully assumed my immune system would function as it always had. He pulled out of that one, came down with something new a few days later which only lasted a day, but by then I was starting to feel awful. I hadn't had a fever in years, I'd forgotten what it felt like. Death. It felt like death, just to clarify that.

I'm starting to feel better. In fact, today is the first day in two weeks in which I've felt "normal." I still have a cough, but it sounds worse than it is. I'm off all the decongestants, so my head is clearer. The prospect of Spring Show rehearsals starting doesn't scare me as much.

That's right. Spring Show. Rehearsals start in a few weeks. I spent two weekends in the lobby during Saturday Classes, measuring and recruiting kids while hopped up on Tylenol and phenyleparine. Parents were ambivalent. After the costuming disaster of Winter Show, some were understandably nervous. I glossed things over as best I could, trying to look as normal as possible.

Stitch, with no immediate competitions on the horizon, is in both the group number for his level and the "specialty group" number. He's rolling his eyes, stating the rehearsal schedule will be too much, but if I know my Stitch, once he's in the thick of things, he'll be fine with it and asking for more.

He passed Freestyle Three the week I was starting to shake and feel numb. He gave me the paper and I was pleased. Change foot spin, still his weakest element, but Class Passing. I've mentioned to Coach many times, "Please. Back Spin. Please." In my two weeks of incoherence, I doubted I made much sense among the parents rushing to pass things.

This past weekend was his first run at Freestyle Four. Again, I'm expecting to be here for awhile. I'm glad to be here awhile for many reasons. He can sit at Freestyle four for a solid year if needs be. This Saturday the coaches introduced the new dance step sequence, which includes a variation on a three turn which left him flummoxed. And his foot was pestering him.

The weekend prior, the one where I was laying on the sofa, feverish, achey and cranky because I couldn't breathe, Stitch reported that his foot hurt. I asked him why. He said he had jumped off some infernal piece of playground equipment and his foot had hurt ever since. He said it hurt in the arch, and it really hurt when he was skating on it. I told him that it would be fine, since I was letting the week be light on the skating anyway, as he was between class sessions. "Just put ice on it. Or something," I think I said, before I retired to take another nap.

But Saturday, his hops were all off, his spirals were non-existent, and he looked like he was in pain. I pulled him over during the break, and asked if it was his hurting foot, and he said yes. "It's killing me," he clarified. So, I asked Coach what I should do, seeing as how she might have some knowledge of Sports Medicine which I do not. She instructed me to try taping it, but to see a foot doctor if it continued much longer. This horrified me, so I went up into the stands, took some more ibuprofin for my two week long headache and prayed for the best.

Tuesday morning we set off for lessons, and he said his foot felt fine. I watched him skate and he looked normal, not in pain. Coach nabbed him and they had a great little lesson which included Loop jumps and some new warmup step which we have dubbed "MoHops."

So, my Flu seems to be gone, leaving only a waning cough behind. If you hear me at the rink, it sounds bad but I feel great. Stitch's foot seems to have healed itself, but I'm keeping an eye on it. "No more jumping from the slide platforms," I told him. "No more tearing up your body at the playground," Coach Snape told him.

After weeks of antagonism, the two of them seem to have hit it off. Stitch gave him a cookie once after lessons, and Coach Snape seeks him out for mini-lectures about not tormenting me and taking care of himself. It's actually kinda cute, and it makes me happy.

Coach is starting a Spin Class, which Stitch will do. That Back Spin will be fully conquered.

Mompetition: What it is and how to avoid it.

(Sorry for the long absence, my day job is suddenly very busy, which is a great sign for our economy. If the arts are picking up, certainly other industries are as well! But it means less posting, apparently. We will return to Sewing Week after this brief interruption!)

From the day our babies are born, us Mothers are entered into the Mompetition Games. How big was your baby? Eight pounds? Puh-lease. Little Elsie was eight and half pounds! You don't know what a big baby is!

As they grow, it goes on. How much are they eating? How long are you nursing? Does your child eat sushi or just chicken nuggets? What growth percentile are they in? Do they know their letters and colors? Oh, pfft. Mine knew the alphabet at six months. And you are teaching Baby Signs, right? We've moved on to pre-algebra, the first grade math program is just boring her. Oh, you're just doing General Education? We're doing the Special Curriculum, we just think it's best for Junior.

Yeah. You know what I'm talking about.

It's annoying as all hell, because no matter what your child does or did or could ever hope to do is certain to be bested by some Goody-Two-Shoes Mom who is defining herself through her child and their acheivements. Even if those acheivements are little more than having the biggest fecal production of the day in the pediatrician's office, this mom takes the spotlight by proxy.

It was Mompetition that drove me from the playgroups early on in my parenting career. I simply could not tolerate the constant inference that my son was somehow inferior because he could not "sign" for water at three months, and that I was an inferior parent for not doing math flashcards at three weeks. After getting the stinkeye for admitting that I had trouble nursing in the early days, I just decided these women weren't worth my time. (Double mastitis? Clearly I had done something wrong, was their implication.)

So for years I operated safely outside the Mompetitor games. I just collected Stitch from Preschool, nodded politely at the other mothers and made a hasty exit. I didn't bother answering questions about diet, study habits or bowel movements.

Then Stitch began Figure Skating, and I inadvertently entered the Mompetitor Olympics.

He's stuck at Freestyle Three? Oh... *insert subtle look*

And somehow your child's inability to master a complex skill overnight becomes a reflection on you. Honestly, sometimes I think I'd rather say that Stitch has a drinking problem than say he's still working through the Change Foot Spin, just because I can't stand that Judgey Look. (I believe my detractors have used the terms "struggling with," which I find to be disheartingly mean. I struggle with separating grocery carts. I am working through forward crossovers, a new skill.)

Conversely, if you have a child who can skate, who really does master complex skills overnight, you're in for a different world of hurt. Yesterday I received a gift of chocolate from a fellow skating mom, thanking me for "being so nice."

All I do is talk to her while the kids have lessons. We talk food, our various craft projects, pets, school, homework, politics, and occasionally, skating. But really, she gets a lot of cold shoulder at that rink, and I think it has a lot to do with how her little girl owns that ice. She's blowing away Freestyle Four at the moment, much to the consternation of a Mompetitor who does nothing but give Other Mom the silent treatment.

As a mom, it's all too easy to fall into the trap of defining yourself through your child. When your child does great things, of course you are proud and want to share that success. It's certainly cool to be the "Mother of the Awesome Kid." But when you fall into that pit, you run the risk of exposing yourself to severe ego damage when your child falters, fails, or even worse, is outperformed by another child. And if you don't think that's going to happen, think again.

What makes it worse is the weird imperative that your child must Figure Skate as a "Serious" Competitor or not at all. ("Your child just does ISI competitions? Pfft, we switched out of that long ago.")

Once you and your child's performance are linked, you simply cannot face those Other Moms with children you percieve as better than yours, nor can you spend enough time around those moms with children who are behind yours in their skillset. Your friendships at the rink are suddenly terribly limited, based on fragile terms, and very often under false pretenses. Is that any way to lead a Social Life?

Other Mom often hung out in the lobby, just doing her own thing, and yes, she did seem a little aloof. But one day I introduced myself and struck up a conversation with her. As it turns out, she's in the lobby because her daughter wants her there and it's too cold in the rink anyway. It had nothing to do with her personality, which is warm, funny and inviting.

So, how do you avoid Mompetition? Just don't buy it.

Whenever someone starts talking smack about another Mom, smile and nod, and gently steer the conversation to something else. If they insist, find somewhere else to be. (The Booth. The Cafe. The Broom Closet. Anywhere.) If you see a mom hanging out alone, say Hi. If you meet a new family at the rink, be nice.

And when you meet a Mom who is making dubious choices in pursuit of their child's skating, simply mind your own backyard, stay out of their way, and try to be a positive influence.

We're just here to skate. No one at the rink is curing cancer or writing a Middle Eastern Peace Treaty. It's just figure skating. Do unto others as you would have them not talk about you when you go to the bathroom.

OMG, a T-Shirt Contest!

Well, the Basic Skills Competitions aren't the only game in town! Xanboni is having a T-Shirt contest!

Most of the skatewear out there is for girls, so I've been wracking my brain to come up with a good figure skating t-shirt for boys to wear. Give me time, I'll come up with something!

Someone asked for a coffee mug with the "Skating Graph" on it, I like the notion of a mug or beer stein, personally...

But if you've ever thought of a witty catchphrase like, "Get a Suitcase for that Spin, you're Travelling!" or "Stop whining, Oksana cleaned the ice with her BEAR HANDS!!" and show some awesome 'shopped graphic of Oksana Baiul doing a layback with big bear paws, now is your chance!

Get involved! Submit your design ideas and we'll have some awesome unique shirts for the rink!

"Let's go Ice Skating!"

(It's two for one day here at St. Lidwina's, since my Scheduled Post didn't happen!)

I love having new people at the rink during the holidays, and really hope most of them stick around for the rest of the year. When I'm in the lobby at public skate sessions, and people see Stitch, they'll sometimes ask me about classes and things. I'll happily answer, tie skates, and loan gloves.

Expectation.

But Public Skate sessions around the holidays can get a little crazy, simply because everyone and their dog shows up. Literally. I spotted a cocker spaniel puppy in the lobby not too long ago. The sheer mass of people who don't skate can make things a little dangerous.

So, let's say you're a family on holiday break, wanting to visit the rink up the road for some funtime ice skating. How do you make sure it's actually fun and not a trip to the ER?

Reality.

Skates.

Did you just get some new skates as a gift? Great! Make sure they're sharpened before you hit the ice. Some poor little boy showed up in new hockey skates and collapsed for ten minutes before his mom asked me to check things. They still had the weird "Factory Edge" on them, not a proper edge.

Are you renting skates? Make sure you get the right size, and make sure you tie them properly. And when I say, "tie them properly," I don't mean that you do some awesome macrame job on the excess lace while leaving the lace hooks sad and empty.

Tie them properly means: Loosen the laces all the way down the foot. Stick your socked foot in there, and tighten the laces, one by one, so you're comfortable. Don't cut off your circulation in the name of support. Lots of lace? I bring the laces OVER the lace hooks and around, all the way up the ankle (again, tight enough to support but don't make a tourniquet) and bring them down and around the lace hook set to eat up that extra lacing. Or tuck the excess into your long sock. But don't wrap it around the ankle of the boot, because that interferes with movement, and don't let it drag. You will trip over it. It's one of those Murphy's Laws of skating; what can be tripped over, will be tripped over.

Apparel.

Dress in layers, so you can peel off accordingly. Our rink gets Polar in winter, but most days it's comfortable in a light jacket. Pants, please, and gloves for when you fall.

While that cute little skating dress is very cute, she's shivering. This is one of those parental moments where you make them wear a jacket, no matter how much they protest. 'Kay? Oh, and if you put her in that cute skating dress, know that the Big Skaters wear thick skating tights to cover their legs. Not a one of them goes out bare legged, so please don't let your little girl do it! (Seen it!)

And while you may want to get your budding Wayne Gretzky "used to the helmet and pads," it seems counterproductive to send your three year old out in full hockey gear to learn to skate. One thing at a time, maybe?

Attitude.

This seems to be the single biggest challenge for our Holiday Public Skating sessions.

So you can't skate. This is fine. Go slow, hold onto the wall, and take it easy. You'll start getting it eventually.

Please don't march on the ice, flail wildly and start imitating Plushenko as you enjoy some self deprecating humor. While it is comic, it's very dangerous to yourself and others.

Please don't scream at your little skaters to get off the wall/do something cool/"gliiiiiiiide!!" or whatever. They'll let do it when they're ready.

Please keep a sense of Situational Awareness. Stay alert to slower or faster skaters around you, and don't think others are automatically watching out for you. They likely aren't!

Please don't assume Rink Staff are just a bunch of meanie heads out to spoil your fun. Obey rink rules. You wouldn't challenge a Lifeguard, so don't challenge the Rink Guard.

Please, for the love of all that is holy, do not pick up and carry your little skaters. One of my greatest horror stories is of a mom who picked up her tot, lost her balance, and fell on her tot's head. Other parents have fallen while carrying kids, but this one was the best. To this day I get the serious heebie jeebies when I see a nonskating mom pick up a reluctant tot and carry her while skating.

On the sidelines? This is okay, but please don't walk on the ice with your camera. Yes, I know, you've likely been introduced to that other Murphy's Law of Skating; If they do anything cool, someone or something blocks the view. It's just something you have to deal with.

Remember Budding Wayne Gretzky? Please don't yell at him. Or push him down. Or snowplow him. Or fling him across the ice. This is just sad, really. Unless you're looking to make Figure Skating Moms look like Angels, please don't engage in abusive behavior towards your Little Hockey Boy.

I've seen some great things at Public Skates, and I've seen some pretty awful things at Public Skates. Bottom line, it's what you do that makes it fun or not.

Oh, and Please buy something from the Concession Stand during resurface! Support the Rink you're at, and nothing makes a skating memory more fun than popcorn and hot chocolate to warm chilled fingers!

Ice Show Bingo

In an effort to lighten the mood, I've decided to offer up Ice Show Bingo! Rules are like classic Bingo, except when a Skater runs into scenery, the first one to shout "Bingo!" wins regardless of the card. In this respect, it's more like Sudden Death Bingo.

I appreciate all the support I've been getting on this issue. Hopefully my freakout will not be in vain!

A Skating Mom needs her Connectivity

So, i got home from skating on Saturday night and my little netbook was deep in the Blue Screen of Death. No amount of Reboot Resecutation would save it.

Dad, sick of my moping for a mere 12 hours, took me to the store, where I got the tablet I've been eyeing for some time. It's way cool, but it's an Android system so I've got somewhat of a learning curve ahead of me. As a lifelong Windows user, this is real new.

Looking at music editing and video editing apps now, so if any of my fellow skating moms (or folks) have insight, please share!

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.

Has anyone seen it?

I had some friends video my progress, just to see if I was coming anywhere near the correct posture or if I was looking like the Rachel Flatt image of myself that I have in my head. On reviewing the vids, I made a horrifying discovery.

 

 What happened? 

To be fair, all these backwards attempts are giving my rear a workout, so perhaps I will find it again. In the meantime, I will have to turn a blind eye to myself and focus on what my feet are doing. (Since I can't do that on the ice.)

I need "That Girl" back

Practice last night. For me. (Stitch is swimming with his Grandma, still avoiding the math stuff I sent with him like the plague. But he's back in just two short weeks!)

I had my skates sharpened, which hadn't happened in awhile, and I nearly faceplanted when I tried to stop. No, I told myself. You didn't catch an outside edge by accident, that is just your New Mondo Inside Edge. But onward I went, sailing a bit faster now and a bit shaky because I wasn't sure about these new edges. I took up a hockey circle and started trying crossovers. Again. This time, hold it.

Like Shuffles, my pushing foot didn't want to leave the ice. I'd try, and it would stay, and I'd get frustrated. So I'd get it off the ice, try and send it over, and abort. Self, I said. What the hell. What are you afraid of? It's not like you've never fallen, or gotten hurt, or recovered.

This isn't the girl who passed out mid-loop on a stand up rollercoaster, coming to again at some bizarre angle, only to run around and do it again. This isn't the girl who worked fly rail, holding onto a lineset badly out of balance then finding herself three feet in the air and being told to "hang on while we fix it!" This isn't the girl who tried taking apart scaffolding while she was still on it. Okay, that last one was dumb, but it was still funny. But for some reason, the part of me that says, "Try it, how bad can it be," mutes when I step on the ice. I had to get that part of me vocal again.

Okay, so what happens if I fall? I get back up. Self, I said, it's that simple. Fall, get back up. No problem. But this mental battle is shockingly hard, leaving you wresting with the notion that this is all you. Other people do it, it's clearly possible, the only thing stopping you is this mental barrier to learning in the first place. I want to skate and I don't want to fall, but skating means falling, so which is it? You can't have your skate and your proud, unbruised ass, too.

I started again. One foot over the other. I thought about rollercoasters. One foot over the other. And again, again, again. Without noticing, I sailed right over that gouge in the ice that I'd been avoiding. It didn't scare me anymore. But the Freestyle adults were doing spirals and I felt in the way, so I recused myself to the studio rink where public skate was going on.

Eventually I was doing crossovers, one after the other, with never both feet on the ice. I could keep it up for five or six strokes before I felt like I was going ninety miles an hour on those new edges and would slow down, but it was a solid improvement over last week. Rink Pal said he saw three good ones. I didn't fall, but I came close several times while trying backwards half-pumps. But I didn't let that fear stop me from trying again. Backwards crossovers look cool.

Courage in the face of yourself is hard. I'm a Legend of Zelda fan, and one of the hardest battles in the games is when you fight the "Dark" version of your protagonist character; "Dark Link." Whatever you do, he counters because he is you, everything you are only meaner. You can defeat him with the Megaton Hammer. So, I guess the lesson here is to beat that Dark part of yourself into submission.

(Yes, I know about the Din's Fire trick too, but this is ice skating. No fire.)

Oh Dear

I'm attempting to explain the ins and outs of figure skating to the grandparents. Responses are ranging from confused stares to looks of horror.



This may not have been the best idea in the world...

All or Nothing

When you walk into our rink, there are two posters that flank the front door. One's of a mom screaming at her sad hockey son, and the other is a dad screaming at his sad hockey son. Both have the caption, "Relax. It's just a game." I want to make some posters of a mom screaming at her daughter in a sparkly dress, with the caption, "Have a valium. It's just figure skating."

I know we skating parents like to claim all the sports crazy in the world for us, but we by no means have a monopoly. The crazy extends to all areas; tennis, golf, swimming, baseball, football, lacrosse, hockey, dance and voice. Anywhere there is a remote chance of a kid becoming a star, parents are throwing themselves into the work of pushing that kid into being that superstar on the Wheaties box.

The simple truth is this: The odds of your kid making it to the NBA, MLB, NHL and whatever the national leagues are for swimming and hockey are dismally small. Same for skating. It's more reasonable and sane to operate with the mindset of, "This is a recreational activity for my child, which encourages self esteem, provides valuable exercise and acts as a deterrent from substance abuse later in life" than it is to have the mantra, "OMG OLYPICKS!" Which isn't to say that I don't get stars in my eyes sometimes. I do, especially when I hear that Coaches like my kid and I get wind that others think him talented. I don't think I'd be a good parent if I didn't. But I do try to bring myself back down to earth and focus on the task at hand. Right now that's jumping on dry land.

Yesterday evening Stitch shocked himself by getting around more than 180. "Mom! I started out facing the tree and I landed facing the flowers! Do you think I can do it on one foot?!"
"Well, let's try it on the stairs first so you can get the height to do it."
Usually the ponderous task of jumping stairs on one foot is enough to remind me of reality. (He's getting better.) And I have this blog, which gives me some space for reflection and catching me in my own bad behavior.

Anonymom brought up some comments yesterday that mirror a conversation Dad and I had that same day about kids, skating, talent and fun. Dad and I were discussing coaches (Stitch was outside), and I was relaying my theories as to how these people operate: They troll the beginner classes for kids who seem to have some knack for it, they skim them off into their higher level classes with the assumption that the kids will "pick up" the basics provided they skate enough. That leaves the Coaches free to focus on "real" skating like jumps and spins in an incredibly demanding and cliquish environ, which girls typically respond to. This is actually Bela Karolyi's method; "Little girls are like scorpions. You put all the scorpions in a bottle and one will come out alive." (Little Girls in Pretty Boxes,) It's actually exploiting Girl Psych. The kids that don't make it through this process of theirs, they don't want anyway, and they can weed the group down to the one or two who actually have a shot. This is just my theory, but Dad agreed and we both found it reprehensible. It literally trashes dozens, if not hundreds, of kids in figure skating simply because it burns them out or makes them feel incompetent enough to quit.

My little Niece was at the receiving end of a similar process. She's really little, and her mom and dad signed her up for a Gymnastics class. The coaches all thought she was the most talented little girl of the bunch, so they bumped her up a few levels. Suddenly surrounded by older girls she didn't know, doing things that seemed too hard, Little M sat down. She quit gymnastics, because the Coaches wouldn't let her take things at her own pace. 

Youth Sports is drifting towards a terrible "All or Nothing, Champ or Chump" mentality. Anonymom's comment that skating talent isn't determined until they have all six jumps and are doing "real" spins, I believe is a damaging way of thinking. And it's not just skating. Every week I listen to my coworker trash his own kid because the team lost at another baseball game. Anonymom, you can correct me if I'm wrong, but there seems to be no value at all placed on The Swizzle or the Foul Ball, the lessons from absolute basics and loss.

It's cultural, too. Look at kid's clothing for sports. All little boy's tees say, "FIRST PLACE," or "TEAM CAPTAIN," or "CHAMP, STAR" or some other variation of THE BEST. There's no mention of the work it takes to become a champion, just the finished product. Worse, there's no value ascribed to doing something for fun or just recreationally, because either you're a champion or you're wasting everyone's time. Everyone wrings their hands and wonders why kids quit sports, opting for the safer route of vidya games and other mindless pursuits. I can give you my opinion why; it's because the focus went from Recreational Activity to BE A CHAMPION. Or perhaps the focus never was Recreational Activity to begin with. Parents or Coaches didn't care about the process, only the end result.

We've all seen the moms in the stands who berate their kids after lessons. "You're in Pre-Alpha now, so you need to stop walking like a Tot!" Mom, it's a process. It takes time. Your kid is adorable, and fabulous just the way she is. Her wonky one foot glide will get better. Focus on the Process, not the Product. It will make you and your kid much more sane and your journey much more enjoyable.

Southern Girls need your Gossip

Admission: Yes, I love a good Gossip. The only secrets I hate are the ones I don't know. I'm from the South, we drink gossip like other people drink merlot. The good news is that I'm largely a dead end for it. I just like to know stuff, not necessarily pass it on. The bad news is that I'm a hopeless addict.

I learned all this when I was a kid, sitting in the back of my grandmother's giant Buick, listening to her and my mother tersely whisper about the doings of my no-good cousins. Who was in trouble with the law, who owed who money, and who was sleeping with that girl "just like cats." Then when you actually see the aforementioned cousin, because they were talking about him while driving to the family event where we'd be having a dinner, I would have to bite my lip and think "I know you're hip deep in it!"

I still get lots of fun gossip from my Southern family, like the preacher's kid who dropped out of the Ivy League school his parents bought him into even though he couldn't spell his name and he's now living at home and working at the Food Lion, but it's different now that I live so far away.

The Rink has proven to be a fabulous Dealer.

Yesterday I got involved in a great conversation about some kids at the rink. Who's dad is crazy, who's mom is a nut (that's easy, we all are) what kid is competing too high for his skating ability and who on earth is allowing that to happen, and so on. I might as well have tied a rubber band to my arm and lay there like I just shot heroin.

Few things: One, I'm glad other kid is not at Stitch's level. Not that I was worried about his competing with Stitch, it's no contest, but it keeps him out of our hair. Two, I'm validated on my opinions of people. I know I'm not alone in my caution. Three, I'm leaving alone. I have some thoughts, but I'm leaving it alone for now.

In the meantime, Stitch and I share something special; A Love of Disco. When he was a baby, the only way to quiet his crying was to rock to the beat of "Dancing in September" or "Jive Talking." Well, all the "Disco Party" stuff was on sale at the party store. I have two 30" mirrorball decals and two albums of Disco mixes, and I'm not afraid to use them. Stitch heard me reviewing the CD's for quality this morning and was doing spirals to the bridge of "Turn the Beat Around."

Surprise!

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.

How things Change

Today Stitch and I went to the beach. We didn't talk about skating at all except to mention that he would have a quick choreography session with Coach tomorrow. He played in the sand for upwards of two hours, forgetting about the lunch we packed and just digging holes, playing in the water, being a kid. I read The Time Traveler's Wife and watched the people. City Beaches are always amusing.

Then I had a moment of terror. This beach often has glass in the sand. Stitch had kicked off his beach shoes and was running barefoot. BAREFOOT! Suddenly I was rehearsing the call I'd have to make to Coach... "Yeah, we can't make it, he was playing in the sand and stepped on a piece of glass.... Yes, I gave him beach shoes, but.... I know, I'm sorry... I'm an idiot... No, I don't know when it will be better. The doctor said six weeks, provided the gangrene clears up in a timely manner. It's pretty green now, but it's fading. More lime green than moldy green. The third metatarsal was nicked by the broken beer bottle, but it's more of a fine break than an actual fracture. Maybe he can get on practice ice. I'm not sure. It's not that swollen anymore..."

"Stitch! Put your shoes back on!"
"WHY?"
"Because, there may be glass in the sand!" and I don't want Coach to yell at me.
"No there isn't!" he's looking around like I'm nuts.
"Just... put your shoes on. Because I said so." For pity's sake, I think you're an athlete now! Take care of yourself while you build your sand fortress and throw water at it!
"But Maaaawwwmm!!!"

No, he did not step on a piece of errant glass. About three hours later I decided it was time to go. "Come on, Stitch."
"WHHHYYY!!??"
"Because you're gonna get a sunburn." I had sunblocked us both but that stuff has a time limit. And while Stitch endlessly whines about being roused out of bed before 6am for skating lessons or school, for some reason he had gotten up at 5:45 this morning for no reason at all. I knew he was gonna go downhill fast.
"No I WOOONNNN'T!"
"Yes. Time to go."

We packed up, stopped at the store for a soda, and headed home. Dad and Stitch played chess, and I am nursing a bad sunburn on my LEG of all places where I did not put sunblock. (Hey, my back and shoulders remain unscathed, my dermatologist will be happy. One little weird mole and they freak out on you.) As predicted, Stitch is crashing, yet claims that a stretching session outside will help revive him.

Tomorrow is choreography day, and if you see me splayed on the ice with my calf face down, it's because of the sunburn. Just go around me. Thanks.

Are we all still here?

And supposedly the Rapture happened. Needless to say, all the Skating Moms are still here. (Including me, for engaging in the Sin of Gossip earlier.)

That is all.

Camel Spins??

I had to go pick up a pattern for a vest I've been asked to make, so Stitch and I headed to the store right after I got home. We were walking and talking.

"What's that new jump, where you pick in and hold your free leg out a bit?"
"A half flip?"
"No, this one," I demonstrated, much to the amusement of the passers by.
"Oh. That's a ballet jump," Stitch was laughing at me, too.
"That's a ballet jump? Really?"
"Yeah. And we started learning Camel Spins."
"Wait, what? Camel spins? Really?"
Stitch giggled. "Yeah."
"No way! Camel spins?!"
"Yeah! And the Shoot the Duck Spin."
"Sit spins?" (Okay, I saw these. There was a lot of falling. A lot.)

Stitch was excited. I bought the pattern, Stitch grabbed two bags of scrap trimmings for some reason, I showed my concept to my New Friend and Stitch made puppy eyes for some candy.We agreed to watch "Hop" over the weekend after the first Ice Show rehearsal, and came home to some lemon chicken soup.

I guess I need to watch lessons more often. I can't fathom Stitch doing a Camel Spin, really.

Three Qualities of the Effective Skating Parent

I've been at the rink a lot more lately. I came to the horrifying realization that for the past two weeks I've been there five days out of seven. I'm not really sure how this happened, but I'm pretty sure it's an accident based on the flop season of the college hockey team. Yes, that's what it is.

I'm enjoying watching Stitch learn and practice and become good friends with Gordon. I've debated bedazzling my work coat, and reflected on the finer points of different polar fleece weights. But mostly I watch other moms. I listen in the lobby, eavesdrop in the stands, and the colorful cast of paranoid people who surround me is endlessly entertaining. I thought that Pre-Alpha parents, flapping in the stands and screaming about swizzles was awesome, but Freestyle moms take the insanity to new heights.

Dads are less common but there, usually standing near the wall trailing a Zuca bag and sparkle soakers, looking dazed and lost, sometimes horrified as their daughters run around in skin tight clothes and short skirts. (The Hot Pants over the Mondor Tights look is becoming more common, I think it may overtake the Chloe Noels before winter.)

But the Moms are everywhere. At the Freestyle Level it's really no longer cool to watch all your child's lessons. On a Saturday session, the Parental Peanut Gallery is down to about a dozen, with the majority of the parents in the lobby. They're wandering around, chatting on or checking out their cell phones, drinking coffee (*cough*), pretending to read, chatting amongst themselves about what's in that dress bag and how cheap they got it ("It's custom, you know. I'm sure it cost her hundreds but I got it for eighty!"), and always parking their daughter's Zuca right against a viable seat on a bench, sitting next to it while they do whatever it is they do best. This is usually glaring around to see who belongs to who and what they think they're doing here.

As the parent of a young boy, I guess I don't warrant much attention. I talk to the Zamboni drivers and get ignored by most of the other moms. This is fine by me. I've noticed that Ms V doesn't get much attention either, so it must be a Boy Thing. But all this listening and observing has led me to believe that there are three qualities that make a Good Skating Parent, and the possession of and degree to which you have these qualities will be what assures your child's success in skating.

They are: Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Paranoia, and a massive Trust Fund in your name.

There's no question that it's a sick bunch of individuals who gladly toss their children to skating coaches, only to take them home an hour later, covered in bruises and dried tears. I think the only variation is by degrees.

"Did you Skate?"

I was into skating years ago, back during the Tonya/Nancy thing. I watched Lillehammer like everyone else, holding my breath when Tonya was late with a broken lace, wondering what kind of skater doesn't have an extra pair of laces on hand for a situation like this. It seemed like a pretty obvious thing to have; an extra pair of laces in a sport that relies on tightly laced boots. I hated her costume, her music, her hair, everything, but I watched and loved it. I was pea-green with envy at little Oksana Baiul and I fervently prayed for Tara Lipinski to get hit by a bus. Nancy Kerrigan was such a goody two shoes, at least until that mic caught her whining at Oksana's late entry. ("She's just going to cry again.") High drama, and it was beautiful.

When I was fifteen, figure skating was something I wanted to try. But there were no ice rinks around that I knew of, my mom wasn't interested in getting me to do anything other than Masonic Youth, and my general ambivalence on roller skates left me with not much more than some bruised knees, goofy candid snapshots from a Roller Rink Birthday Party, and a terrific knowledge of Old Testament heroines.

Since then, I've had a passing interest in figure skating. It's neat to watch, but I never had cause or desire to get into the dirty details of the sport. Like most people, I really only saw it once every four years and most of the competitors were unknown to me. I didn't know there was an ice rink near me until I bumbled into it by chance while donating books to what I thought was just a Community Center. For some reason I just glazed over the "AND ICE RINK" board on the sign. I had no idea that Boots and Blades were sold separately until I saw them at the skate store, mounted to the wall like serrated steak knives. I only knew that skating was expensive, hard, elite, and involved some dour looking Eastern European coaches who appeared to eat kittens for breakfast.

But now, I know some of this stuff. I've got a base knowledge of the Leagues, the clubs, the competitions, the people. I even have opinions about curriculums. I have a good idea of what new skates are going to cost me and how long it's going to take me to get them because beginner boys can't walk into a store and walk out with skates like the beginner girls can. I can sew a skating shirt in about three hours and it will even have some minor decoration. I've even started saying that some ice is crowded when it's really not in an effort to keep "our" ice clear. While I feel some minor guilt about this, I have to take into account that the person I've said it to would and probably has said the same thing to me yesterday. I'm also pretty sure that none of the Coaches eat kittens, for breakfast or any other meal. (I only have doubts about one.) I don’t know everything and I don’t pretend to, but I’ve amassed a workable knowledge of what I’m doing here.

When I start to talk about what I know, other parents ask me, "Did you skate?" and I answer "no." They usually follow up fast with "Did you ever want to skate?" This is a trap question, because I can’t win in my answer. If I answer yes, then I get the wicked look which belies the assumption that I am living out dead dreams through my kid. If I answer no, yet I just happen to know or I've taken the time to learn the gory details of the sport, I'm clearly a liar or a complete maniac. I just say, "Well, sort of." I leave it open ended and ambiguous, then I excuse myself for another cup of coffee so they can't pry.

I challenge any woman to stand up and honestly say that no, she never ever ever for a few moments, days or months, want to be a Figure Skater. Of course I wanted to skate. Most girls do. I also wanted to be a veterinarian until I dissected that baby pig, crying on the bus ride home for my piglet and all the others that had been named "Wilbur" by sadistic high school kids. I wanted to be a ballerina, only realizing I wasn’t all that graceful until it was too late, onstage in front of a hundred other parents, tripping over my fellow dancers while performing “Blue Danube” like a sack of pink sequined potatoes. I wanted to be a doctor, but then I watched some girls braid the hair of the corpse in that anatomy class while we removed her spleen and severed her hand, and I decided that this was not a good career choice, careening down the hallway to the bathroom where I could safely faint. It's the same with Figure Skating. All it would have taken would be the knowledge that I'd be in tights at 5:30 in the morning and I'd have said no. I hated tights, I hated 5:30am, and the combination of wearing the Devil's Handiwork at an Ungodly Hour of the Day would have ended it quickly.

Of course I have dreams for my kid. What parent doesn’t? But many days I’m just in amazement that he can do the things he does, without any time to think about what’s possible. What may have been my short lived dream decades ago has evolved into a supporting role, dusted with the occasional compliments that come from having a kid in this sport. I've taken the time to learn all this stuff, not because it’s anything I think I’ll really need, but because I'm curious. It's interesting; the rules and regulations, how it all works. When I heard that Yu-Na Kim was gearing up to compete at Worlds (where ever and whenever that winds up being) I was dying to know how that was even possible. I still find skates in and of themselves fascinating; when the rocker goes out from under me and I land square on my tail, I'm still amazed by the accidental physics of it all. I'm really glad none of my childhood girlfriends knew about the hair weaving technique Synchro Skaters use as they can't use bobby pins, because I can only imagine in horror the hours of hair pulling I would have been subjected to, being one of two girls with really long hair that got "experimented" on regularly.

I’ve started paying attention to skating again because I like the High Drama, and while I haven’t prayed for Nathan Chen to get hit by a bus yet, I’m sure his day is coming. I learned this stuff because it's nice to know, it's good to be prepared, and even though I still haven't bought a spare set of laces to carry in the skate bag, I feel much more confident in this little venture with the knowledge that I probably should.

Conversation from Nationals

This was back when Nationals was on and we were catching the TV schedule as we could. Stitch is in his room, reading comics, I am housecleaning.

"Stitch! There's skating on TV!"
"Okay! Be there in a minute!"
"It's just Pairs right now."
"Why is there fruit on the ice?"

I love that kid.

Sanity in the Stands

Last night I got stuck between two skate moms.

Now, I enjoy a good gossip, probably more than I should. But the constant level and degree of veracity that these two were keeping up left me looking up into the ceiling trussing. Someone should go up there with needle and thread to patch the insulation. I'll do it if it will get me away from these two.



At one point I was even defending Stitch about his weak left side, and at another I was fuming at the concept of having boys in the synchro team "to do the lifting." (Not because they can skate.) I heard about every Coach in the room, some not in the room, crap music choices (which I'll freely rail about in relative private but never in the rink) and how I'm "still" doing Group Lessons below the freestyle level. They even knew about how I was considering a Coaching Switch so long ago, and wanted to know why I didn't. I think I disappointed them with my answer, "Because I like Coach so much, and so does Stitch even if he doesn't quite see it yet." (Have a seven year old boy and you'll understand.)

No, I didn't find out some wicked scandal about Other Coach. Sorry.

Little do these Ladies know that I was trained by the Masters of Social Grace and Gossip. The best way to keep yourself out of these conversations, especially when they happen outside of your presence, is to keep your nose clean. Yes, have opinions, have thoughts and feelings, but limit what you do and say in and around the venue. When you're in these conversations about others, don't forget that whatever you say can and will be held against you. So, when a Coach got compared to a Little Viper, I didn't say, "Oh my gosh, yes, she's awful," I simply said, "That's too bad." When another Coach's music choices got slammed, I replied that perhaps the mother should cut music if she wasn't happy.

I didn't demand to know when another Coach got his two medals, because I've been looking for this information for days and can't find it. (Although I did find some awesomely hysterical pictures.) I knew that had the potential of getting back to Coach, and leave Coach wondering why I wanted to know and if I was debating switching. Of course I'm not, but don't open that window. Ya know?

I kept a smile on in the rink and on the way home. Stitch was excited to be in costume, bouncing and spinning and getting excited. I'm glad he did, because I now see where I need to do repairs and touch up work. But I was mad. How dare these women question my choices, Stitch's skating, and tell me he should be in Synchro just to pick up their daughter? Who are they to say that they sometimes have to speak to their Coach "like a child?"

I'm starting to think that the moms who drop their kids off at the door and depart for a coffee elsewhere have the right idea.