Starting to pass the torch

For all this time, I've dictated the practice schedules, which have always been, "skate whenever he gets a good chance."  But lately that's led to some resistance on Stitch's part. He simply doesn't see the value in skating so often. There's been some quabbling over the matter of How Often to Practice, and I was debating how to handle this.

MsV approached me over the whole Parenting Thing. "I don't know what to do, he fights us over every little thing! But I'm reading this book, 'Parenting without power struggles,' and I'm hoping that will do something. Its very highly recommended, you should read it!"

Power struggle? Is that what this is? The light came on.

Kids start to assert some demand for power over their little lives from age two. I've always ascribed to the method of allowing limited choices where appropriate (what clothes to wear, what to eat, what activities to do.) But for some reason the skating had slipped from "limited choice" to "non-negotiable," on the same plane as homework.

Last night over dinner, Stitch and I had a chat.

"Okay, so you've got this new program to work on and a competition in January."
Stitch nods.
"How often do you think you need to practice?"
He thinks. "Twice a week."
That's once more than what I thought his answer would be, so I'm encouraged. "Great. Your options are Friday night Public, Saturday Night Public, Sunday Afternoon Public, or Sunday Night Practice Ice."
"I don't like Public Ice. It's too crowded and distracting."
I almost fell out of my chair, one for the honesty and two for the cost. "Thank you for explaining that to me. Do you prefer the Tuesday morning ice over the Wednesday night?"
He sighs as though he hates to admit it. "Yes. It's much less crowded."
"Good. So, let's make a plan. I'll take you to practice on Friday nights and Sunday afternoons or Sunday night whichever you prefer. As we get closer to winter, the Sunday afternoon public will fill up, so we may call it quits and do Sunday nights. Okay?" Plus on Sunday nights he can get his music played.
Stitch agrees that this is a good plan. A good plan that he had a big hand in setting.

I then laid out his options for the evening; TV time, video games or a board game. He opted for video games, and I gladly spent the next hour being his Legend of Zelda Coach. "Go in there, target the spider and hit it! Ignore the heart beeping, you'll come back, hit it!"

Staying on Target

Yesterday's Practice Ice, the first ice on an early morning on a weekday, went shockingly well. Stitch was engaged, listening, working, and skating better than I'd seen him skate in awhile. In fact, the first time his music gets played, Coach lets him improv for awhile, then builds a program around his antics. His Antics looked so good, I was thinking it was the real deal until he did some bizarre catch-my-blade-under-my-butt manuever. The new program looks pretty solid already; challenging enough to give him something to work for, but not so hard as to send him into a spiral of self-doubt. I was pleased. This matches the Slowdown I'm implementing at home right now. Putting him at Freeskate 2 eases the pressure a bit.

Coach and I noted his good work, I packed him up and took him home. I gave instructions for school and set off for work, happy.

Imagine my shock when I got an email from Teacher D, telling me Stitch had just lost focus completely during a writing assignment. He had thirty minutes to work, but turned in a totally blank sheet of paper.

When he got home, he got out his math homework and gave me a whipped puppy look before telling me "You won't be happy with the math test."
I let that sit until dinner was done, and then I looked at it.

And we had a talk.

"Stitch, tell me what happened with the writing assignment today."
"We didn't have one," he evaded.
"Yes, you did. Mr D tells me you weren't focused, and then you had trouble with the writing portion of it. You didn't write anything at all."
"Well," Stitch is thinking. "Mr D said to write nothing, so that's what I did!"
"You wrote nothing, even when everyone else in the class was writing something?"
"Yes! But Friend S told me to write what I knew about the Native Americans..." he's thinking.
"Stitch, did you zone out while Mr. D was giving instructions? And when it came time to actually do the assignment, you didn't know what to do?"
Stitch is crestfallen. I've seen right through him. "Yes."
"Hm," I say patiently. "This seems to be a recurring problem. It happens in class, it happens on the ice, and it happens at home. So what can we do to help you focus on the task at hand?"
"I don't know," he says unhappily. "But sometimes things are just not interesting! Like math."
"That may be, but you still have to pay attention in school. Like this Math Test. These are really simple concepts; measuring to the nearest half inch, and perimeters. There's no reason why you shouldn't be able to do this, yet you got all of them wrong. Were you paying attention when Teacher D explained how to do this?"
Stitch sighs.
"Stitch, you'll learn at school, or you'll learn at home, but you will learn these things. I advise paying attention and learning in school, so you have time for fun things at home. Okay?"
"Okay."

So, after he had done his regular homework, I printed off some worksheets to reinforce the concepts he'd missed on his Math Test. And, as I suspected, it was simply a matter of focusing on the subject matter and listening to what I was saying. Once he understood, he got it handily.

Last Friday, I stepped in for the last few minutes of the Workshop. Stitch was having something new thrown at him, a Flip. And he was struggling mightily, doing his best, but it was escaping him.

He came off the ice, frustrated. Coach came over to chat with me, and I asked, "So, what can we do to help this happen?"

She stepped Stitch through an off-ice jump, showing me a finished product. Stitch struggled, and I could see that there was a lot going on with this jump. Stitch simply needed to get each piece before he could see the finished product.

I nodded.

A day later, in the courtyard, after Spiral stretches and Shoot the Ducks, I asked Stitch to jump up and turn around. Stitch immediately tried the full Flip and failed.

"No, no," I stopped him. "Just jump up and turn around on two feet. You've done this."

He jumped up and turned around a few times.

"Okay, now hold your arms in and do it. Just like Coach shows you."

He laughed and did this a few times.

"Okay, now push up with your foot, hold your arms in, turn around and land on two feet."

Things got fun as we slowly added each physical element to the mix. We got to "Push up with your foot, hold in your arms, turn around, land on your left foot and put your arms in landing position," and that's as far as we got. We're still working on it, but by breaking the element down into manageable bites on dry land, Stitch was doing better. If he keeps this up, by the time the Workshop starts again in four weeks, he should be in good shape to try it on the ice.

Coach was exasperated again a week or so ago, "He's so gifted, he could do anything if he'd only focus!"
"I know," I said. "You're not alone, it's not just you. It's all his teachers and me. So, stay with him, slow down. We'll get him to see himself."

As I'm working with Stitch on Staying Focused, what runs through my head is a scene from Star Wars...



Those sequins came from behind!

Stitch is Growing Up

"So, mom," says Stitch over dinner. "Ms. Music Teacher says we can get one recorder for seven dollars, or two recorders for ten dollars. I think we should buy two."
"That does make them cheaper overall, but why do you need two recorders?"
"Well, in case I leave one in my locker, I can still have one here," he's using appropriate hand gestures, "and I can still practice."
"Ah. That does make sense. When is the money due?"
"We haven't gotten the slips yet," he sounds disappointed. "I can't use my other thing," he's referring to a wooden recorder he bought from the Peruvian people at a summer festival. He played it so much he wore out the glue and it doesn't work anymore.
"Well, when you get the slip, bring it to me and we'll see what we can do."

I intend to buy two. Music is sparking his interest, and with a professional musician in the family, this can be a win. But I anticipate the challenge of learning to read music to be much akin to the torture of backwards wiggles.

"I can't do it!"
"Yes, you can. Keep trying."
"I will never skate backwards!"
"Of course you will. Don't be silly."
"THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE!"
"The only one saying that is you."

And of course last week I watched him fly around, his hair flipping up as he skated faster and faster into a pretty good salchow. Backwards.

What also pleased me about this conversation was that he's starting to acknowledge the concept of "practice." We'll see how far this flies in reality, but I think this is the first time he's said the word without a whine in his tone.

Monday night I realized that I'd forgotten to turn in Stitch's Ice Show form. I ran home to grab the boys and a measuring tape, and ushered them to hurry out the door. "We have to swing by the rink, get this form in since it's the last day!"
Dad looks confused. "Stitch, you said you didn't want to be in the show."
"I changed my mind!" Stitch says happily.
Typical, I think.
"What made you change your mind?" Dad is still confused.
"Mr D, my teacher and the class. I want them to see me skate." Ah, the School Matinee. It also gets him out of class for the morning. The thought crosses my mind that next year he'll likely be eligible for a solo. For the moment, I'm happy he's starting to take pride in his skills.

Stitch also presented me with the permission slip for School Choir. Last year he had thought about it, but determined himself too shy and not good enough. This year, he was going the Nike way and "just doing it."

Last night I put Stitch to bed. "Don't forget, skating lessons tomorrow. I'll lay out your skating clothes, so have them on when I get home."
"Ugh, I hate lessons," Stitch rolls his eyes.
"You always say that," I feign confusion. "Yet when you're in lessons, you look like you're having a blast, and when you get done with lessons, you say you had a lot of fun and you don't want to leave the rink. And then when you skate on your own, you skate the things you learned in lessons. You've got to stop with these mixed messages, kid," I tickle him.
"It's just what I do," he says. "It's how I roll."

Yes, that is indeed how you roll. Funny how the impossible slowly happens.

Solving Stitch

Stitch is my little riddle. Sometimes I think of him as a wild colt I'm trying to tame. I don't want to break him, but I do need to channel him, focus him, and strengthen him. I read a lot of parenting books; some good, most bad, but when I'm at my most desperate I'll try anything.

I got "Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother" from the library, and I found a kindred spirit in Amy Chua. I seriously wanted to look her up and call her and thank her for writing the book. As much as the "Positive Discipline" method is working with Stitch so far, I'm not using it in its pure Fluffernutter form. Like Amy, I made a decision that my kid would not be an entitled, spoiled, soft little northshore brat. Amy spoke to my heart when she stated the selfsame thing of her children.

I'm just not a Fluffy parent, which is funny because I thought I would be. In fact, I hate talking about parenting with other moms because I don't want to admit that I sometimes made Stitch cry in agony over homework and chores. Some parents might have fits that I make Stitch help carry groceries up three flights of stairs, or send him out alone into the alley to take out the recycling, or I made him walk hikes into the miles. In the rain. I gave time outs in the middle of museums, standing over a crying child in a corner, looking fierce, daring anyone to challenge me. Raising a tough kid in a fluffy world is a lonely undertaking.

I don't want to say how burstingly proud I am of last week, when Stitch had to forfeit a recess to complete a test properly. He did it and he didn't complain. He accepted the notion that he hadn't taken proper time when the time had been alloted, so now he would lose his time. He scored perfectly on the test.

I can't say that I really do actively force Stitch to do math practice, read for his thirty minutes, that I reset clocks when time is being wasted, and when he says, "But I don't like this," I reply, "And I don't care." When other moms complain about their children's goofy toys, I can't tell them would forbid such useless things from my home. (Fortunately, Stitch hasn't expressed any interest in this stuff. He sticks with his electricity sets, and is now demanding a Chemistry set.) Years of switching off the TV has given me a home of "unless you're actively watching it, turn it off," cutting out the thirty minute toy commercials that pass for kid's TV these days.

For years I listened to teacher after teacher tell me of how smart he was, how capable he was, yet it was motivating him they couldn't do. Stitch would just shut down. It was and is maddening when we'd play spelling games and he would spell out MESSENGER correctly, yet on homework he'd flub SEKRT simply because he "didn't feel like it." And I'd patiently work with him, trying notebooks and diaries and worksheets, searching for some way to engage him in the right direction. Eventually there would be tears and fits and frustration for both of us, and I would feel bad and quit for awhile, only to try again a few days later. This year I told his teacher, "Be tough! Don't let him get away with anything, and he will try!" I think I scared him.

I remember Coach coming up to me after watching Stitch do one of his impromptu Ice Shows, her face exasperated even though she wasn't working with him that day, and saying, "He's wild! He needs to learn to check the movement, to be steady!"

I just looked at her. What else could I do? When Stitch is on Stitch's time, he skates the way he likes. Stitch was and is determined to go by his own rules, go his own way, and he doesn't just have a different drummer, he's got a whole damn marching band. When Stitch is fighting practice, it's not that he doesn't like Figure Skating, it's that Figure Skating doesn't seem to like him sometimes. The sport demands a slow patience that Stitch, either through maturity or physical ability or both, just doesn't have yet.

But we're getting there. Last weekend's victories during Moves and Flow may have seemed inconsequential to some, but for Stitch they were huge. The positive energy generated that morning overflowed when I caught him trying a Death Drop that evening. He started off in a spiral, spun, and flung out that free leg as high as he could, landing unsteadily and scaring himself. He looked to see if I would say anything, but I think I was just as shocked as he was.

I don't know whether to mention the incident to Coach or not. On the one hand, I don't want him pulling dangerous stunts like that, but on the other she may start her lecture about more lessons and I don't want to have that conversation again.

Some day, Stitch's talent and skill will catch up with his ambition. Until then, I will continue to be Positively Pushy. I'll ignore any dirty looks I get for my lists, flash cards, charts, chats, worksheets, chants, counting on my hands and on ice monitoring of practice. I won't record mistakes like Park Mee Hee, but I will continue to celebrate small victories. "Those crossrolls, amazing this week! Looks like you're feeling better about them." I won't call him a disgrace and garbage like Amy Chua. Instead I'll focus on his strengths. "Those jumps are really getting high! Much higher than before!" I clearly see that Figure Skating is having a positive effect on this child, in so many ways. As a weapon in my arsenal, it is a powerful one.

The Chinese Parenting Model as described by Amy Chua speaks of a "Virtuous Circle," wherein the child works hard, practices, gains praise and admiration, feels good, and this motivates him to do more and better. The thing with Stitch is that he doesn't care about the opinions or admiration of others. He only cares about his opinion of himself, so I have to turn that Virtuous Circle inside out.

A few nights ago, after his math drill, he stayed on the tablet for a few minutes more, drilling himself one more time on multiplication and division, trying to beat his time. He did. He smiled at himself, closed the program and stepped away happy. This past weekend he took his favorite competition trophy to bed with him. I asked him, "Are you ready to try for another one?"

"Yes. But the practice will be terrible."

"Probably. But I'll be around to help."

(Comments have been disabled due to the incredible controversy Amy Chua created with her book. If you're looking to say she's a terrible, mean mom and I am, too, you're missing the point entirely.)

A Salvaged Practice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 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.)

Yes, we're still around!

Sorry for the terribly long absence here, I've been adapting to my new tablet, researching the wealth of antiquities at the old theatre, (which we continue to find three months into the process) and doing day-to-day life. And skating.

Much to Stitch's current agony.

The skating suddenly got hard, and with the six weeks off he lost momentum. He's more irritable and crabby than I've seen him, and he says it's because he can't get it right. "I don't do it right," he says. "I can't get it perfect."

I keep reminding him that skating is hard and he likely won't ever get anything right on the first try. Like the Salchow.

But because it's hard and he can't get things perfect, he's lapsing back into his thinking of, "If I can't do it, I won't try." He won't accept that failure is an inevitable part of trying new things, and of life in general.

Well, this way of thinking runs counter to his enjoyment of being in shows and performing. So, we're at an impasse. While lessons are hard and trying and he ends up literally pulling his hair in frustration, he has to pull through them to get his chance at a spotlight. And I'm doing my best to help him through this rough spot. I'm cheery and upbeat and I ignore his protests, reminding him that if he wants that spotlight, he's got to work for it.
"But you're aiming it," he pointed out to me. "Just aim it at me."
"That's not the point."

School has, again, become a battleground. I shove him through reading and math drills, I sit on him for well-done homework, and I want nothing more than for Spongebob to be wiped from the face of the earth. I'm weary of always countering the negative. I had suspected that since Stitch had been such an easy baby, that I was probably in for a wild ride later on down the road, and I was right. He says he doesn't want to do "anything." He tells me he wants time to "relax" and "be himself," yet when I give him this time, within five minutes he's moping around complaining of boredom. So I provide things to do, and then he's whining that he's too busy. I can't win.

He's a good kid, don't get me wrong. He's just working out some kinks at the moment and it's making me insane. Because, you know, I can't say to him, "Why can't you be a normal kid, for pity's sake?"

Sorry for the ranting. His moodiness is really wearing on me.

Coach still wants him in Freestyle Three. I don't know what to think. She says he's a bit rusty on the elements at the moment, but it will come back as we get back into a regular schedule. I certainly hope so, and I hope he picks himself out of whatever hole he's in right now.

Back to our Friday Nights

Apparently Friday Night Studio sessions have been near abandoned. We arrived to find only Rink Pal, Other Kid, and a newcomer in Hockey skates. We all chatted awhile, got on skates, and I promised Stitch, "An hour of practice, please, and we can go home to the New Kitten."

New Kitten is very new, so Stitch was loathe to leave him. I understood. "Just do some tries at those things Coach showed you Wednesday, do you remember?"
"Uh, spin, I forget that new jump."
"Salchow?"
"What?"
"Exactly."

So he gets on the ice and Other Kid is immediately on Stitch about the Salchow. "Let me see it! I want to see your Salchow! You probably can't do it right!"
Stitch tries, and of course since it's so new, he barely gets it off the ice.
"That's fine, that's a try," I said. "Four more tries."
"I CAN DO IT!" Other Kid tries one, and frankly it's not much better than Stitch's. I ignore him for the moment.

"Okay, now that spin thing," I'm realizing this is going way past my ability.
"What?"
"That spin where you hold your leg in front?"
"That's a scratch spin."
"Okay, scratch spin, then. Five tries."

Stitch does five tries, each better than the last. Other Kid has given up on harassing Stitch for the moment and is harassing guards.

I pace Stitch through Waltz Jump, Spiral, Stupid Duck and Flip, then tell him he's done so he can play. He runs off with Other Kid, "arresting" the Rink Guards for various offenses. But whenever a fun song came on the radio, Stitch would bolt to center and give us a show.

I was relieved. He needed time to play, and June had offered none of that, hence the burnout. The skating is getting hard, he tells me that frequently, but I keep my mantra of "Stay with it, practice, and you'll get it. I promise." The impromptu ice show was a good sign right now, I hadn't lost him to incessant lessons.

Rink Pal skated over. "What level is he in now?"
"Coach says Freestyle 3."
"If he tests out of it, did you know he can do a show solo? Maybe for Spring."
"I'll talk to Stitch." Although I saw no reason that The Hamboat himself wouldn't want to do a solo.

At one point I came off the ice to grab a Diet Coke. (I'd been off them all summer, I blame the rink for being my Dealer.) Other Kid was trying to stick a cone to the plexiglass. "What are you doing?"
"STICKING THIS HERE!"
"Why?"
"BECAUSE IT STICKS!"
I just walked away, Other Kid's mom never stepped in to watch.

I came back and did crossovers, only one side of me not remembering how this goes. But I nailed that "gonna fall" voice quiet and threw one foot over the other. One side of me can hold the position, but not the weight shift, and my bad side just wants to get it over with. I'm getting there. I went backwards a lap without looking at my feet, and managed to go backwards on one foot for a few inches.
"Hey, Stitch, watch this!" I tried to get him enthused about my crossovers.
"What," he skated over, "prisoner" in tow.
I tried a crossover and botched it.
"Woooow," Stitch say, heavy on the sarcasm.
"Never mind."

Later on, we were doing hops at center. Me just barely getting off the ice and Stitch throwing himself up and hopping on his toepicks.

We stayed an hour, as promised, but Stitch had fun. We came home and let the kitten run all over. Elder Cat is not happy, but for the moment is keeping his distance and wants Kitten to leave his tail alone.

Today I'm at the Old Theatre for a few hours, which means I'll miss the Adult Clinic. Well, there's ice tonight.

And we're back

Stitch is in bed, unhappy at a quasi-normal bedtime, but cleaner than he's been in weeks. The last few nights at the cottage, he shunned his bed for a pallet and a sleeping bag on the screen porch, sleeping to the wind and the waves on the beach. I was proud of him, as this was his first time doing that alone. All week I was marveling at how he's growing up and moving away from me in bits and pieces. I'm torn over this. The only cuddles I got were "recovery" cuddles after a frightening moment, and those were few and far between. At the hardware store, I bought him a small pocketknife and showed him how to use it. (I had one when I was his age, why not?) And for the next few days he was cutting and whittling and poking everything in sight. All boy.

He's bugbitten, tanned, scratched, scarred, bleached a bit in the hair and snaggle toothed. Yes, he lost a tooth while on Vacation. His Cousin M knocked it out while they were roughhousing, and was apparently shocked at this until Stitch began bouncing around in relief that it was finally gone. We showed her the new tooth right behind the old, and then she was then alarmed that this was in her near future. (She's 4.)

We only had one scare during the entire trip. Stitch and Cousin M were tearing around the front yard at Grandpa's, when he began screaming "OW! OW! OW!" and collapsed onto the ground. He'd been running downhill, and I feared a sprain or a break, but when he kicked off his shoe and a little wasp looking thing fell out, I breathed a sigh of relief. He waggled his foot and said it hurt like a needle prick. Just stung. I picked out the stinger, and after an ice pack and some watermelon, and all was forgotten. 

He's been voicing his desire to return to school, and as I was washing him down tonight for the second time (for good measure) he asked, "Remember that time the ice was so rough, the zamboni had to go over it twice?"
"Yes, I remember."

I think we're all ready for normalcy, at least as we define it. Campfires, lake swims, water guns and all that jazz is fun for awhile, but the weather is cooling. It's going to be some rough days ahead, what with Skating starting anew, the Old Theatre getting some rentals (meaning money coming in so they can pay for repair efforts and labor like me), schools starting and the Day Job getting busy.  I may need three of me. But we're relaxed, refreshed, and ready to go. Tomorrow I call Coach and let her know we're back, as she said she misses him and wants him back "as soon as possible." I even brought a rink friend a fossil of her own, just like I said  would.

Let's hope I remember crossovers, and Stitch remembers FS1!

Today's Horoscope: F*CK YEAH!

Not that there wasn't drama surrounding the event, but he got it, and it's done, and I can relax.

At least until Sunday.

Stitch, you're an awesome kid and I'm so proud of you!

The times, they are a' changin'

Stitch did not pass the FS1 Program test. To my commenters who were confused about the lack of the Program component of the test, you were right. There was one, and Stitch, true to his "it's just practice so whatever" form, didn't pass it.

Well, I was disappointed to say the least. And I was disappointed in the same way I was when Stitch half-assed his way through a book, math assignment or project in school. I was disappointed because of his chronic habit of shortchanging himself and his abilities. And I was mad. Mad because now I'd have to watch Other Kid taunt him for being at a lower level for another god knows how long, when Other Kid can't make it over his own skates without looking like he's terrified for his life. This kid's knees are torn out of his skate pants, he falls so often.

But last night I got the other side of the story, and now I'm not so mad. In fact, I'm giggling a bit.

Rink Informant and I were watching Stitch jump and skate and dance, and I asked what happened.
"Well, Mysteria says he can do it better."
"I know that, but..."
"No, he can do it better than what he's letting himself do. She wants him to do better. She's pushing him, too."
I thought about that for a minute. "What does Coach say?"
"Coach Y told me, and she had this funny little half grin on her face, like she was happy about what Mysteria said. All the coaching staff is watching him. He's our next Big Skater."
"But what about Other Kid?"
"That's what everyone else is asking. But Coach N has been barred from giving ISI tests, and she's the one who passed Other Kid into Freestyle 3. Now all the tests have to go through Mysteria."
"I thought that was how you did it anyway..."
"Mysteria's going to flip when she sees Other Kid."
Of course she is. Because to have some kid skating like that at Freestyle 2 as representative of your rink is embarrassing.

I changed the subject to cats. That's a lot to digest.

Stitch did his program a few times, with me explaining that what Mysteria was looking for was the exact same performance he would give if he were competing. The same energy, the same life, not the Blah "It's just Practice" snoozer. And he delivered for me. But every time he came off the ice, he railed about how "it wasn't perfect! I can't get it perfect!"

"So do it until it feels perfect," I said.
"I can't get it perfect! That's the problem!"
Well, you're doing miles better than Other Kid, who's bunny hops look like a split two foot jump. I just have to get into your head that it's okay to not be perfect, and lack of perfection doesn't precede you from continuing to try.

We came home and watched some bad Kung Fu movie, and I put Stitch to bed. We had gone to the library and gotten a bunch of books on electricity projects, and his task for tomorrow is to build a "welcome mat" for his door that will ring a buzzer inside his room. He thinks this will be hilarious.
I left the skating alone for awhile, but I did lay things out for Stitch on Friday.
"Here's what's at stake if you don't pass this last chance on Wednesday. You will have to completely re-do your program to compete at Delta level, and you'll have just two days to do it. That will be loads more work than if you just performed for Mysteria as you would for a judge. Also, you will be competing against Gordon instead of against the Book. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"Okay. It doesn't matter to me what level you compete at. I would prefer you compete at Freestyle 1 since that's what you're capable of." And I don't want Gordon's Dad coming after me with a shovel. "So, please take this final chance seriously. Will you?"
"Yes."

Stitch insists he's doing his best. I know that this isn't true. I've seen his best.

SO....

What does all this upheaval mean for you, fellow Skate Moms of my rink who I know read this blog? Well, it means that if you are fine with your kid going through class levels without formal testing and zipping on up without care for quantifiable results, you can continue to do that. However, if you want to compete in ISI while affiliated with our rink, you need to go through Mysteria. Full stop. Am I happy about this? You bet your sweet bippy I am!

Which isn't to say there aren't ways around it. There are, and I'm sorry to say we've participated in that. I'm going to try to avoid that in the future.

Skating has entered my arsenal of weaponry to challenge Stitch to own himself, to live up to his capabilities, not quash them down because it's "hard work." In the end, it's harder work being dumb. "Next Big Skater" or no, this has become part of a Whole Child/Person Philosophy I'm working on, here. He can do better.

Hitting it Home, one Nail at a Time

I come home and find that Stitch is trying to pass off yet another completely unacceptable Reading Response Homework Assignment. He is loathe to show me the paper, stating, "I didn't see the instructions," as he does so.

"You clearly did see the instructions, because you know you didn't follow them."

Stitch was supposed to read a book for thirty minutes, and write two to three sentence responses to various points; why he liked the book, who his favorite character was, and so on. Stitch has written single sentences, restating obvious points in the flimsy little book he read, way below his reading level.

"Stitch, this is awful. You need to do better. Sit down."

I try to go over how he can elaborate on his points, but the book is so thin and lacking in content, there's not much even I can go on. Stitch is nearing tears.

"Don't cry. I don't want to see tears over this." I get up and get Out from Boneville, one of Stitch's favorite graphic novels. "You've read this, right?" I hold it up.

"Yes," the lower lip is quivering.
"How long did it take you?"
"About an hour."
I know this is true, I was there. He read it all the way home from the comic book store and then completed it at home. He ate up every word. "Don't cry. Okay. So, let's use this book instead. Take a moment to skim it and refresh your memory, and start over." I take a fresh piece of paper and re-write the worksheet Teacher gave him.

Stitch goes over the book for about ten minutes and re-starts the assignment. As I suspected, it's easier this time. Stitch easily comes up with plot points, his favorite characters, and finishes with "Mom should go out and buy the whole series!!"

He hands me the paper, now smiling.

"Stitch, this is perfect. This is a fantastic example of what your Reading Responses need to be."
He smiles.
"Stitch, how old are you?"
"Seven."
"Nearly eight. What grade are you in?"
"Second."
"Stitch, this book," I point to Out from Boneville, "the one you read so easily, and loved so much, is meant for twelve year olds and sixth graders."
His eyes get big. "Really?"
"Do not ever, ever, sell yourself short, Stitch. You are smart, and you are capable. Don't just squeak by. Challenge yourself to do better. Because if you're reading sixth grade books in the second grade, imagine what you'll be able to read in sixth grade."
He thinks on this. "Maybe I'll read books this thick," he throws out his arms.
"Maybe. But for now, I want you to read this," I pull out The Phantom Tollbooth. "It's about a little boy who reminds me of you. Always bored, always saying there's nothing to do."
"I can't finish that!"
"Read a chapter a day, starting tomorrow. You'll like it, I promise. I read it when I was a little older than you."

We eat dinner and talk about our days. Stitch is eating and stands, suddenly doing spiral stretches at the table.
"Let's do that after dinner," I say.
"Can we do it outside?"
"Of course."
"I think I should run around the courtyard three times to warm up," he says.
"That's a great idea."
"Well, I'm full. Let's go out and wake up my feet."

I talk to People

I'm pretty friendly. I talk to whoever talks to me, and I like learning about people. Yesterday afternoon on the train I struck up a conversation with a former competitive skier. He's got eight kids and working on a collection of grandchildren. Really nice guy, beautiful family. We exchanged pictures and he asked me about Stitch.

"So, where would you rank him with other kids his age?"
"It's not really a fair comparison right now. He seems to have some talent for it, but some kids his age are ahead, some are behind. Some started earlier, some later."
"It might not be fair, but that's what you have to do. Keep watching where he is in relation to his peer group. Keep him two steps ahead."
"They all seem to learn differently," I said politely, thinking that skiing was a heck of a lot different than figure skating. (I could be wrong.) "Besides, he may love to perform and count his trophies, but he's just a kid."
"He's seven? Okay, seven. Watch him when he turns ten or eleven. That's when he will make the decision. That's when you will see a burning desire or you won't. In the meantime, push him and get him to learn the skills he needs. Give him the tools. When he decides, he's halfway there."
"True," I mused.
"Even if he doesn't decide to be competitive, he's learned a lot anyway," Man sips what smells like bourbon in a styrofoam cup. (We are all boozehounds on the afternoon commuter train.)
"And it's fun."
"Yes, it's fun. I skied until I was seventeen. Had a bad crash and said I was done."
"Don't blame you."

We wound up the conversation and I got off at my stop.

That was the first reasonable advice I'd received from anyone regarding Stitch's skating. No, "He's gonna go far" vague predictions, no "How soon will he be doing doubles" dares. No forecasting dates, no weird starry eyes from people not involved with words of, "I can say I knew him in Pre-Alpha!"

Just a straight up, "Push him to the skills, and see if he rises to meet them. Look for it around age ten."

Stitch turns eight in two months. I can't wait until he grows out of this negative phase that we've been in for the past year. My reading on children says that seven year olds are often pessimistic and moody. Boy howdy. The skating has helped tremendously, diverting him from his moods and giving him something to be happy about. Hate to say it, but he's happy about winning, and having the ability to win. In fact, I am anxious to begin a new Program. Stitch skates better with the incentive of "Trophy."

So, let's get planning for Round Four.

The Toepicks Have it In for Us

Tonight I made it to lessons just in time to see Stitch wheeling a corner on an inside spiral, Gordon not far behind as the two boys were apparently racing the warmups. I relieved The Sitter, who said that Stitch actually did crossovers, as I had texted her in big letters "TELL HIM TO DO CROSSOVERS" just as I got out of work. Stitch and Gordon flew past us, sliding on their bottoms on Shoot the Duck attempts. Stitch went past the door, saying something about wanting a refund but I ignored him.

I gathered up the things and went to the Lobby to find a suitable spot to figure out what to do with myself for the next half hour. I'd finished my book, I didn't have a beading project, there wasn't anyone to talk to, so I got a Diet Coke and lingered by the window. Stitch saw me watching and rolled his eyes, so I assumed this was a "get lost" look. I wandered around, debating snagging a new book but I've already got two in the stack at home, plus another title I need to find. I watched the skateboarders outside and wandered back in, where Ms V caught me and started talking about her husband getting all ready for baseball season. Her car is apparently loaded with half the contents of Sports Authority, and she isn't sure what's going on, giving some horrendous figure he's spent on all this stuff.

I looked up, seeing Coach supporting Stitch by his backside. This didn't bother me, this is typical for Shoot the Duck, but then I noticed Stitch crying.

"Is he all right?" Ms V was suddenly concerned.
Coach's usual response to a fall is to give them hard looks until they get up, so either Stitch snowed her with a really good injury act or this is serious. Whatever it is, I need to intervene.
I get into the Rink and Stitch is performing his Lump of Pain Routine, so Coach is forced to shove him out of the ice door where he nearly keels over on me. He's all red faced, sniffles, crying and tears and mess and goo. "What hurts, where did you fall," I ask.
He cries harder.
"He fell on a spiral," Coach says. "He looked around and lost his focus."
Damn toepicks. "What hurts," I repeat, firmer to get through the tears.
Stitch indicates his knee, the same knee that got whaled by a bathroom door stall just a few days ago which earned him a band-aid and pity points from Teacher.
"Okay," I acknowledge. I send Ms V for an ice pack so she'll stop hovering, and I comfort Stitch. Coach goes back on the ice.
"Breathe, just breathe. Slow down. It's all right."
Stitch huffles and sighs, still gooey and red.
Other people nearby tell him he was doing great, but this just makes him madder.
"Stitch, were you looking for me on that spiral?" I ask him.
He nods.
"I thought I was bugging you so I left. I'm sorry."
He snuffles and buries his head in my scarf.
The lesson ends and Coach comes to check on him. "Will he survive?"
"Probably," I sigh. I figure this was partially serious, but mostly an act.

We leave and Stitch is sullen, angry, limping and hurt inside and out. Ms V keeps chattering and Gordon attempts to cheer Stitch by getting out toys and playing with his tiger soakers. I get off skates and put Stitch's shoes on backwards, which gets him finally talking. "Mom, you know those are on the wrong feet."
"Did I do that? That was silly of me... I guess I was listening to Gordon tell me about those cool toys."

Stitch looks over and Gordon's got some spinning top thing, which they both get absorbed in and suddenly the knee isn't so bad. Ms V starts dragging Gordon away, I pack up Stitch and we're off. Sort of. Stitch is limping dramatically out the door. "The pain, the pain..." he moans.

At that point I actually wished we had a Zuca. I'd have parked his little butt on it and dragged him out to the car. But I had to cajole and finagle him out, promising him a pillow for his leg and some rounds of Mario with dinner. I shut the car door and look back at him, still sullen. "Stupid toepicks," I say.
"Yeah. I'm going to grind them off on the sidewalk."
"Why not just pay attention next time. That will save me money on blades."

We get home and I set him up on the sofa, inspecting his hurt knee but finding no bruising or swelling.  I put it up on a pillow just the same, bring him his dinner and we get massacred by Bowser and his Goombas for awhile. I offer him some Tylenol if it hurts too bad but he turned it down. I carried him to bed, put him in his pajamas and he settled in to read about birds and Junie B. Jones.
"Stitch, do you want me to watch your lessons?"
He looked at me. "Sort of."
"Well, if you want me to get lost, just do this," and I made a finger across the neck motion. "I'll leave."
"I can't do that if I have to hold my arms out."
"You never do that anyway."
He rolled his eyes.
"If you want me to stay, I will. If you want me to leave, that's fine, too. I stepped away today because I thought I was bothering you," I explained.
"You weren't."
"I'll keep that in mind. Just tell me what to do."

Still no bruising on the knee. This is actually a bit of a disappointment. One of the ways I cheer up a bad bruise is to make "Bruise People." Take an ink pen, draw around the perimeter of the bruise (the more bumpy, the better), add a face and stick some arms and legs out of it. Voila. Stitch gets a kick out of me drawing on him, and a collection of bruise people usually ends hilariously. At one point we had two cops and a fireman. I was really hoping for a Bruise Mona Lisa, but it looks like I'll have to wait. Oh well.

Day of the Weird Mojo

When we went to Rink Faraway, I felt a weird Mojo pervading the air and ice. I thought it was just because we were somewhere new, we had gotten lost, and general comp nervousness. I thought it would dissipate on the actual day.

It didn't. I felt that same Weird Mojo when I got up, I felt it as I double checked the skate bag, I felt it when I was polishing skates, and as we were leaving I thought, "You need to shake this, whatever it is, because if it's you being the source of this, you're going to sour the day." So I put on my bravest face, ignored the twinges of Weird Mojo in my pockets, and kept going. I gave Stitch a breakfast which he ignored, we played video games for awhile to pass the time, and away we went.

Getting to Rink Faraway was smooth as silk. I knew the way, we parked in a farther lot to avoid the chaos, and Stitch was working through his own pre-comp jitters in his typical heavy-handed way. I was making jokes and having fun. We got in the rink and it was of course, utter chaos. Half dressed children in various stages of being made up were chasing each other through the crowded lobby, vendor tables were obscured by mountains of Zuca bags and crowds of wide-eyed, terrified grandparents. Some asshat put a bench in front of the event sheets, so getting to them involved about a thousand "excuse me's" and risking your toes to some chick's un-guarded blades. I checked the sheets, and was dismayed to see that Stitch was up against two girls and no other boys. This was going to be tough.

Instead of hanging in the lobby, Stitch and I just went into the rink, as we were twenty minutes early. we watched the Freeskate level compulsories, where I saw Coach watching another of her skaters. Okay, there's objective #1 accomplished.

When that event was over, I headed down to let Coach know we were there, and where she wanted him. She directed me to an unused boy's dressing room (a hockey room) and said the most blessed words ever; "We're going to be civilized about this. There's no need to do this in the lobby." Oh, god, do I agree!

I went to get Stitch, and I was really hoping to just hand him to Coach and be done. No such chance. Ms. V, who had appeared at some point, and myself got roped into the Hockey Room, where I had to watch Coach calm Ms V and talk her through costuming. Ms V had bought a shirt that was practically identical to what I had dressed Stitch in for the last comp. I didn't know whether to be mad or laugh my ass off. But the shirt Ms V bought was a dance shirt, and didn't have the bottoms. The Bottoms on Boy's Bodyshirts are there for a reason; they prevent the shirt from becoming untucked. So boys can wear pants below the waist level and move freely without fear of looking disheveled as they perform. Gordon's shirt ended up being tucked in with his pants practically at his chest to keep the shirt from untucking itself. Worse, she bought him a lame (that's Lam-eh, not Lame) tie in colored polka dots, and a sash to match. I literally sat and covered my mouth as they worked over this poor hyperactive child, trying to get him to look presentable.

I'm a big advocate of Little Boys looking like Young Men. I never put Stitch in anything goofy, mismatched or in weird colors just because he was a small boy. Gordon looked like a goofy little boy, and I think he knew it. I felt bad for him. But I tried to help as Ms. V kept hitting me up for safety pins, pinning down the tie, the sash, something else and possibly her sanity as Gordon tore all over the little room in a fit of nerves and excitement.

All I had to do was put Stitch in his Fancy Suede Jacket and he was set.

Sometimes I wonder if Coach likes the fact that I take care of most everything, and she doesn't have to worry about Stitch and the basics. Mr V arrived, bringing in some used Boy's Skates from a vendor outside, and then the three of them worked over poor Gordon's feet for another twenty minutes, with Gordon whining loudly that the new skates pinched his feet. Mr V looked up at me, "Have you ever bought used skates for Stitch?"
"These ones he's got are used. They're fine."
Then they all forgot about me again, working over the used/new skate debate. Honestly, I felt left out as Coach talked them through toepicks and jumping and whatever. Maybe I need to start being more questioning, but I don't really need to care until we need new skates anyway.

Coach gave Stitch and Gordon some muffins, which Stitch devoured practically whole. "Hungry?" I asked him. "I gave you breakfast, but you ignored it."
He muffled a "yes", mouth full of muffin.
Gordon ignored the muffin, continuing to ping off the walls. Ms V looked tired.

Coach was in and out of the little room, I was anxious to leave, and the boys began tearing all around, Gordon bringing Stitch out of the Calm I had tried to establish. Ms V went in and out, Mr V disappeared, and I felt trapped. Can't I just go watch skating?

Finally Coach came and said it was time to go. I followed her and Stitch, Ms V and Gordon got sidetracked somehow and disappeared. I gave Stitch a hug, told him I'd be near the front to watch, and started to walk away. Stitch whined for me to stay. "No, I'm out," I said. "This is all you now. Go to it."
"Mom's done," Coach reminded him. "She can watch you."
I left. The Weird Mojo made itself felt, but perhaps now that I was away from Stitch it was okay.

I sat up in the stands, and Mr and Ms V sat behind me. This was why Twitter couldn't happen. As crazy as they were making me, I couldn't say a word because Mr V was endlessly quizzing me about any stupid thing that seemed to cross his mind. At one point he even asked, "Does Stitch have the same trainer as Gordon?"
Trainer? And did he think I was just hanging around them for shits and giggles? I nearly lost my shit with him at that point, but I held myself back. I replied, "Yes."

The kids took ice for warmup. Gordon looking lost and wobbly, Stitch having fun and running himself through his program. Really, it irks me that Coach likes to put these two together. It's starting to bug me more and more, because Gordon and his Family seem so much needier than we are. They pull a lot of Coach's attention, and I fear that Stitch might be shortchanged at some point because of it. I could be making things up, but watching Coach hold Gordon's proverbial hand out there while Stitch handled himself made that Weird Mojo seem stronger and stronger.

Gordon went on as the first of the two boys. I don't think he smiled once. He did okay, I mean, he didn't fall and he did the moves, but he lost the music and he looked miserable. Mr V began muttering to Ms V about smoothness and quality, and how Gordon could be better, and I just frowned. Something just felt so wrong at that moment.

Stitch's competition went up, and both girls had strong programs. One girl fell, and Ms V elbowed me, "Guess that means he wins," she laughed. I wasn't happy that she could take a fall to mean that someone else won. Stitch, the final skater of the whole bunch, finally took the ice. Once again, he was all smiles and excitement. He took his position, the music started, and away he went. His crossovers, forward and back, were sloppy as hell. His bunny hops were high, his spin was staggeringly fast, his spiral was strong as he smiled out at the audience, passing close to the glass. His three turns were much improved, his lunge was good, and he vamped at the end to run out the music like a true performer. But his crossovers were sloppy. I was happy for him, but he has to understand that if his connecting elements are poor, then that reflects on his placement.

So we were sort of done. I went to fetch him and gave him a big hug. "You nailed that one," I said. He was happy, but the Weird Mojo was still hanging, clinging to me. As we sat and watched some other skaters, waiting for results, Stitch's mood began to fall. He seemed to know that something was off. I had forgotten to bring some cash, so I had no way to buy any stuffed animals or anything, and so he blamed me for his funk. Whatever. I knew what was up.

We went back into the lobby, where Mr and Ms V were waiting for results sheets like buzzards wait for a goat to die. "They're not up," Ms V was so upset. "What's taking so long?"
"Dunno," I said, only wanting them up to get rid of this Mojo.
Mr V began quizzing Stitch on his patches. "Where did you get those? Can we get those? How do you get them?"
I explained about the USFS ones, that they could probably get them just by asking Nice Skate Director at Rink Across Town. But Gordon would have to be *snort* tested by Mysteria at Home Rink, just like Stitch had been. I bit my lip. If Gordon tested, officially tested out of anything over Alpha, I'd eat my socks. Mr V seemed to like these patches, though. "Honey, these would be cooler than trophies," he said of them.
Ms V shrugged, not really caring.
Mr V began pressing me on how to get patches, and I finally said, "Just call Mysteria and schedule some tests," before I had to leave.

Stitch and I watched some more programs, Stitch progressively getting more and more bummed out. "What's wrong," I elbowed him.
"Hm," he didn't answer.
"You did good," I tried to encourage him.
"And you're broke," he wanted a stuffed flower.
I ignored him.

We headed out again, Stitch nervous and me just wanting it done. Ms V hit me at the door. "He should have won," she sounded apologetic.
Thanks, bitch.
Stitch won second place, which isn't bad when you consider that he was up against two girls. Gordon got another third. (His third third.) The two boys went to the Awards counter, where two girls were only moderately congratulatory and were annoyed when asked to change out the girl skater to a Boy Skater on the trophies. "Do you want me to change it to a boy?" she asked Stitch.
Stitch looked at her like she was nuts. "Well, yeah."
Nothing says "congratulations" like an eye roll and the noise of a ratchet on your trophy.

So, second place. Stitch was bummed out. "My goal was first," he says.
"I know," I replied. "But you did your best, and that's good enough. Besides, the second place trophies seem like the prettiest ones." I think the apathetic teens behind the awards counter put the stickers on the wrong trophies.

Ms V began saying how wrong the judges were to give Stitch second, that he clearly should have won first, and that talk unnerved me as Stitch was right there. "That's not for me to say. They made their decision," I said. "And it's fine," I shut her down. In fact, it was better than fine, because now was a prime teaching moment.

Coach was pleased with them, even had them get up on the stupid little podium constructed just for photo ops. Stitch and Gordon stood up with some girl who did an amazingly cute program and we got some pictures. The Mojo clung to me, but now that we knew the final score, I started to relax. I took Stitch back to The Hockey Room to change back into his Real Boy clothes, where he was suddenly really bummed out.

"Stitch," I looked at him. "What's up?"
"I wanted first."
"I know. But you can't win all the time. You did good. Do you think that when Jeremy Abbott lost Nationals, he went back to the dressing room and moped? No. He decided to figure what went wrong and how to do better next time. And that's what you need to do. You need to go to Coach and ask her what you can do better next time, so you can try to win first again. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, get your coat on, get your skate bag, get your Grumpy, put your grumpy in there," I pointed to a trash can, which made Stitch laugh, "and let's go. We have a Speedskating meet to get to."

We headed out. Coach ran into us one last time, and she congratulated him once more. "He'll be fine," I said. "We'll see you next week, gotta get back to watch our Speedskating friend."
"Ah, at Home Rink, good. See you next week."

Stitch and I left, and the moment we stepped outside, the mood began to lift. I made jokes, Stitch began to chatter, and normalcy returned. We ran through a Drive Thru for lunch, raced back to Home Rink, and made it back in time to catch some Speedskating heats. Up in the rafters, eating fries and cheering for people we didn't know running a sport we knew nothing about, we both felt better. Stitch loved the gun going off, the bell on the last lap, and the inevitable wipe outs that are so much more dramatic than figure skating wipeouts. The little girl who dropped out of Figure Skating because she just liked to race around absolutely blew her heat away. Stitch's public skate Racing Buddy came in second, just like Stitch, during a great heat. I got a picture of them in the lobby for the scrapbook.

After watching a bunch of other kids coming in second, third, fourth and fifth, I think Stitch felt reassured about his placement. It's okay. You win some, you lose some, and it's all right.

We came home and found that Silver Gold is not only still alive, but seems to be making a full recovery. I've never seen a fish come back from that bacteria. Stitch was happy, bu now we're thick in the post-comp "now what" funk. This is the one thing I have yet to beat. Maybe Ms V is in the same funk, still holding out some hope that Stitch will take up Speedskating.

USFS Parent's Guide; Volume 1

I finally got a chance to look at my new Parent Guides on the train ride home, sipping a Tall Boy and looking at lots of little girls in skate dresses. (One boy.) Volume 1 is a lot of pictures of smiling people. Smiling kids, smiling coaches, smiling pros and smiling folks with medals. It's also a lot of lists. In fact, 50% of this book is a series of lists, do's and don'ts and checklists.

Let's take a look.

The Skating Parent's Checklist:
1. Can you share your son or daughter?
 Dear Coach. You have decided to take on Stitch. I hope you like bad puns, cryptic humor, a lawyer-like reasoning why he doesn't have to do any given task, and a memory that will catch you in every fib you forget about. If you can tolerate all this, and yet hear him when he says he wants to skate for a big cheering crowd, he's yours.
2. Can you admit your shortcomings?
Every. Damn. Day.
3. Can you accept your child's disappointments?
Can I teach him to request Shirley Temples at the bar next door?
4. Can you accept your child's triumphs?
Only if I can video it in super high-res, mega definition quality and upload it to Facebook, Youtube, Flickr, Picasa and Vimeo within 24 hours with the tag "FUTURE OLYMPIAN."
5. Can you give your child some time?
Every fraction of a second I can spare, during which I will smother him with big kisses which Coach will have to wipe off his cheek with a tissue, lest he embarrass himself in front of the cute girls. 
6. Can you let your child make his own decisions?
Only if they are the right ones.

 

Do not expect this result on the first day. Or the thirtieth day.

Guidelines for Supportive Parents:
5. Supportive Parents communicate their concerns directly with the coach. Provided, of course, that the Coach isn't rolling their eyes and only marginally tolerating Parent's presence in the rink at all. Don't you have somewhere else you can be?
8. Supportive Parents avoid the use of fear. "If you don't land that Waltz Jump, there's a cold cot in the closet with your name on it!"
11. Supportive Parents avoid the use of guilt. "No, it's okay. I mean, I only spent $300 for you to get those mohawks. I know you only got second. It's okay. We can eat beans for another few weeks while you work on them. I don't mind. No, no, honey, I can skip lunch."
12. Supportive Parents show empathy for the Young Athlete. "Oh, you like Totoro? It would be a real shame if Totoro got maimed under the car, wouldn't it? You want to reconsider blowing off spin practice? I'm not really attached to Totoro. I know you like to cuddle him as you go to sleep, but cuddles with Totoro don't make national champions, do they?"

And of course the Boy is the victim of unfortunate numbering.

One of the Do's here is to "Read the Rulebook." What rulebook? The USFS rulebook? Really? I glanced over it one day when I was slow, and it scared me. Too many big words for my parental addled brain.

Another big theme is "control your emotions." In fact, this is the most often repeated phrase in this book, and one of the most difficult directives for any passionate person to follow. And Skating People are by default Passionate People. Who else was a wonderfully passionate person but kept a head so cool you could ice tea on it?

Yes, this must be you at the rink.. When Princess's mom disses your kid's back crossovers, channel Spock. When other kid snubs your kid's Group Program in the ice show because he's got a solo, channel Spock. When other Coach rudely cuts off your kid's lesson, channel Spock. When your kid does spins in the lobby without hard guards on, channel Spock. Skate Parent = Spock.

Spock wouldn't compare kids against each other. Spock just takes everyone at face value. Spock isn't upset by Other People's Irrational behavior, Spock just gets the job done.

So, what's your job? According to this guide, it's Self-Esteem, Good Habits, Proper Sportsmanship, Emphasizing Fun, Skill Development, and Striving to Win. I like this book because it doesn't pussyfoot around the Winning issue. Why compete if not to win? I know I've said to Stitch that "Skating your best is what is truly important," but let's be real. He wants that damn trophy and he wants "First Place" on it. I want him to win, too. But as Spock, I get the pleasure of taking him home after he inevitably loses, cleaning him up, and still praising him as long as he did his best. Winning can't be the end goal for me, only for Stitch. I'm Spock. Stitch is the only real competitor in this equation.

After reading this book, I have determined that Spock is truly the best Role Model for all Skating Parents. Spock wouldn't question judges, he would see them as the trained and objective volunteers they are. Spock wouldn't nag the Coach, he would just say, "Fascinating." Can you imagine Spock at rinkside, doing The Bird to encourage kids to hold out their arms? No. Would Spock screech at a four year old to "GET BACK IN THERE" after a nasty fall? No.

The next time I get the urge to critique, nag, complain or whine, I'm going to ask myself, "What would Spock do?"



USFS Parent's guide, I am now Spock at the Rink.

Nostalgia

Stitch is asleep. This is what has become our Saturday ritual; We watch bad movies on TV until he falls asleep on the sofa, and tomorrow morning we all sleep as late as we want. I was sewing patches as he was drifting off.

"Stitch, there's not enough room," I was cramming them on, knowing there were two more in this particular set still to fit.
"Yes there is."
"Barely. Are you sure you want all these on here?"
"Yes."

I got up to Basic 4 when I realized he was out completely. That's okay, I put some Neosporin on his ice kiss from the day, as he wouldn't tolerate that awake.

I was suddenly awash with memories of endlessly sewing patches, all the patches I earned from Juniors, Cadet and Senior scouting. I was never a Brownie, I started off in that hideous green. I understand why he likes these. I still have my patches. Most of them are at home Down South, but some of them are here. I have big ones, rare ones, the "why did we do this" ones like the Cosmetology Badge (Remember the Plum Lipstick?) and the "this was impossible" badges like the Knot Tying, and the sheepshank that took me days to figure out. (Everyone laughs at knot tying. It's knot funny. Sorry.) Some of them represented an evening's worth of activities, but most of them were days or weeks of work.

Some of them were blood, sweat and tears. The Red Cross Canoeing Badge especially. I walked around with my hair wet for two weeks, and I swear that me and my pillow were mildewing as the group went from Shower to Cove to Shower to Pool to Shower in 100% humidity. Me and my partner swam to shore as she was crying, "There's a jellyfish in my swimsuit!" Everyone had six inch bruises on their thighs, from dragging themselves back into canoes from the middle of deep water. No easy entries. We all lost weight, all sunburned, all with biceps of iron and we were misery incarnate by the end of it. Until we got that patch. Then we were singing "Make New Friends" in perfect three part harmony.

Stitch has seen my patches, and he asked for them. I said no. "These are my patches. If you want patches, you need to earn your own. That's how patches work." Stitch set his jaw a bit and walked off, angry with me for the moment, but clamoring for his skating patches all the more the next day. Today, he got his set of patches and it was priceless. I've run some patch awards ceremonies and this beat all of them, possibly because it was my own kid, but it's always great to see a big goal achieved.

Looking at Stitch, with his cheek red and knees bruised, I get it. I get it and I'm glad he does, too. So many kids don't. Before I go off on a "Kids Today" rant, let me just say, the things in life that you care about most are hard. Just that little swatch of something that you wear that says, "Yeah, I did it," is powerful. More than people realize.

Today at Rink of the Damned, there were two boys running on the outside of the boards, pointing and laughing at anyone who fell. They were not skating. This infuriated me. You think it's so easy? You do it. Until you do it, Shut Up. This goes for Parents, too. Until you can do it; Shut. Up.

Considering the Tiger Mother

I have the day off. My only real goals are to sew a pair of practice pants, finish the jacket, and get to skating practice this afternoon. Beyond that, nuts.

I've been following the saga of the Tiger Mother, Amy Chua, on various blogs. Everyone seems to claim she is backpedaling now. Well, she'd have to. She's getting death threats. Yes, Death Threats. People are threatening to kill this woman because they disagree with her parenting philosophy. Doubtless, Amy is one that I'd consider an Extreme (Xtreme?) Alpha Mom. But there's one thing Amy says that has stuck with me;  "People are mad because I was being honest,"

In that regard, Amy is dead right.

No self-respecting parent is going to sit and honestly admit that they have to fight their kids in an effort to instill common sense life skills. And yet, shelves are lined with books on parenting. How exactly do we go about this?

Left to his own devices, Stitch will sit like a slug on our sofa and play vidya games until his brains dribbled out his ear. He'll be mouthy, obstinate, whiny, and he's pretty good at finding buttons on people. Then he pushes them. How much flak would I catch if people knew the truth about the days I confiscate the Vidya games, the Battle of the Chapter Books wherein I've made Stitch cry, the night I made him do his homework three times until it was up to par (tears for bonus points), the incident where he got a time out smack in the middle of a museum (ignoring crocodile tears in public gets you a level up) , and the ongoing War of the Penmanship, battles fought weekly with eraser and pencil sharpener. Ugly Truth #1 is, kids can be awful.

Ugly Truth #2 is; Kids are usually awful because of Mom and Dad.



When my younger colleagues start talking about the "someday" when they're "ready" to have kids, they usually turn to me. I tell them that they'll never be ready, and that nothing on Earth will make you examine the roots of yourself more than having kids.

This is, I believe, the root of the Death Threats surrounding Ms. Chua. She told the truth, and her truth was so jarring to the Wishy-Washy parents of Gilded Suburbia that they responded in true knee-jerk form. When I read her strict tactics, I too responded with a dropped jaw. The thing about Knee-Jerk reactions is that they don't come from a vacuum. Something within yourself has become unsettled by the conflicting viewpoint, and that's a moment to try and find out why. What is it that you're unsure of, that a book or internet article can unsettle it?

Me? I've had a lot of anxiety lately about the Pushing. I feel that I'm doing the right thing, but I don't want to be That Mom. I'm not comfortable with that yet. I do it with the Academics and Behavior, but I'm not there yet when it comes to Sports. Perhaps I need to just embrace it. Ms. Chua did, and while I would never call Stitch names or deny him bathroom breaks, I think there's a lot of room for a Middle Way. (HA!) I've been given a kid who has a buttload of talent when it comes to Skating, and an intense desire to perform, but doesn't have the self-discipline or self-confidence to see it through.

Hey, there are worse things to be than a Pushy Mom.

Little Kids, Big Goals and Stupid Adults

The other Skating Blogs I read have a lot to say about Goals. How to set them, how to go for them, what to do when you achieve them, and so on. Apparently this is a big topic, as Skaters need clear and stated Goals. I can get that. I think that's important.

However, all that is written by, for and about the Teenage Girl set. This doesn't help me, the mother of a School Age Boy. I thought about this forever. How do I help a little kid set goals? What is a good goal for a beginning skater? How can I teach the value of practice, effort? What distinguishes a Reward from a Bribe? How can I instill positive, forward thinking towards largely non-tangible ends? How can I make "Best Effort" a goal and not "Winning"? What is going to make all these bruises, early mornings, cold feet and snarky kids worth it?

My puzzler just about broke, I had a massive headache, and then I realized; Stitch already set a goal, and he did it himself. He set a goal before he even started Pre-Alpha. All the ISI Level Patches.

These little gems are perfect, tangible, highly visible signs of progress easily understood by a young mind. Because I got frustrated with the needlessly stupid process of actually getting the damn Patch, I instead focused on Competition. Well, Stitch likes competing, but as that's not his goal, Stitch has been getting lost.

Well, not anymore. Last night I informed him of the "Special Test" on Saturday to get his Pre and Alpha Patch, and please let me know where on his jacket he wanted them. He got excited. I said that USFS also offers patches, so he decided that USFS should go on the front, and ISI on the back. I'll talk to Coach about the Basic Skills patches when I see her next. (And may god help Mysteria if she doesn't deliver.)

So, Bad Skate Mom. No cookie for me today. I was needlessly muddying the issue with competitions, practice ice, lessons, ice show and other stuff that just serves the Goal. I was confusing the finger with the moon again.

Leave it to a bunch of adults to overcomplicate shit.

Forcing the Issue

I was reading Xan's post on two year olds and skating and thinking "Why would anyone do that?" and "Why the hell didn't I think of that, he'd be doing Axels by now. Shit, now we're behind." All skating mom conflicting emotions aside, I got to the point of "don't skate with a reluctant skater." It was "don't force them to skate."

Last night I was putting Stitch to bed, and like a good mom I informed him of the schedule for the next few days. "Tomorrow is shopping day and free skating. I won't bug you. Monday is school, and I think the babysitter has you. Tuesday after school, Coach wants to you hit Practice Ice so you can do your program with the music. Gordon and Coach will be there with you, but the Babysitter will have to take you there."
"Aw, why?"
"Because the competition isn't very far off. Coach wants to be sure you'll do your best, and so you need to practice."
"But then I won't have enough time for homework."
Wow. He's really playing the homework card? "I've come home lots of times to you not having done your homework, so we can do it together when I get home. Just like all those other times."
"Ugh."

Am I committing the Cardinal Parental Sin of Forcing? I don't think so. If Stitch wants to compete, and Stitch wants to win, then Stitch has to understand that there is a process he has to go through to get there. I think I'd be an even worse parent if I just tossed him out in a spangly costume without getting him to practice. Stitch still doesn't understand why actors will rehearse every day, and I think he's under the impression that Big League Skaters just head out and make it up as they go. And why not? They make it look so easy! With the exception of Kovalevski looking like lions were waiting at the ice door and falling on his terrified ass, all the Big League skaters are confident and poised. Stitch didn't see the long and arduous training process it took to get that poise.

This "practice" thing is a learning process, and it's still new. I think I'd have the same discussions with him if he were doing acting or choir or dance. And this is Soft Mommy compared from when I would almost sit on top of him with a book and make him read aloud to me to prove to himself that yes, you can read those bigger words. Or when I'd get out the handwriting practice books and go through it over and over and over again. Or when we spent a full forty five minutes learning Averages. I forced it, and it paid off.

Conversely, I know when to back off. When Stitch held a copy of Goosebumps in a hand wet with tears, so frustrated by my insistence that this happen, I told him to take a break for a half hour. We had cookies and talked about something else, and then went back to Goosebumps. He got through chapter 2 without tears. When his pencils broke in the agony of "b's" versus "d's", the paper splotched with evidence of his mounting frustration, we went out for a walk. When we came back, we tried again and it was better. Friday, when he was mad that practice left no time for play, that was a clear indication to back off. So today, he has the entire time to play. I'll even provide extra funds for the concession stand as a surprise bonus.

I think there's a vast difference between helping a kid reach their goals and abilities, and plainly forcing them to do something they don't want to do. Stitch clearly loves to skate, and his quiet ambition sits just below the surface. But he's never done anything like this before. I think he is still afraid of failure, and doubts his abilities. It's not so much a question of "forcing" as it is helping him to see that, "Yes, you can do this, you just need to work at it." He doesn't have that emotional strength yet, so that's where I have to step in and shore him up. (And what if I let him give up? What message would that send?)

"Three turns are hard."
"I know. I'm sorry. But you're getting much better at them."
"I can't do them."
"That's not true. You've got them on your right foot, you just need to work on your left."
"It's too hard."
"You said the same thing about going backwards once."
"I did?"
"Yes. You once told me that you'd never go backwards. Now you're doing backwards crossovers."
"Oh. Yeah."
"Why don't we ask Gordon and his mom if they want to come to Chuck E. Cheese with us after the competition?"
"Yeah. Gordon's nice."

I may be tough, but I'm also big on rewards for honest effort.

(Update: My suspicions were verified about "making it up as they go." I had on the Skate America exhibition over breakfast. Stitch says, "I want to be in an exhibition."
"Then you'll have to practice a routine, just like competition."
"No I won't!"
"Yes, you do. Do you think they just make it up?"
"Yeah!"
" No. These programs get practiced like any other."
Stitch shakes a fist and says, "Curse you, skating coaches!" He then changed tonight's dinner menu from "shepherd's pie" to "candy pie.")