I Screamed. And Then I Skated.

The Smith girls perform on ice!

Friday, the girls came home for the holidays.   It is always great to have them home but within minutes, I had to remind them that the bureau drawers in their bedrooms were empty and that everything that came out of their suitcases didn't have to live on the floor.  Shouldn't live on the floor.  Cannot live on the floor.  Pick it up.  NOW!

I had made some plans for ice skating later in the evening.  Unfortunately, it was pretty packed so our skating time was 10:00 p.m.  We had hours to kill.  So we stopped at the beautiful Four Seasons Hotel and wandered a bit, saw the "snow" they had blowing there, listened for awhile to a Buble-esque singer croon the old Christmas standards before heading out to Barnes and Noble and then finally to dinner at the Olive Garden.

Everything was lit up beautifully and I felt a pang of happiness when the girls, having spent the past year in small apartments while living the college life, remarked how beautiful "home" was.  They noted that they never thought twice about it when they lived here but seeing it through the eyes of comparison, they were awed at how wonderful it was.  I was glad they recognized it.  I had always wanted them to but when it is all you've ever known, I guess you need some experience to "see".

Every Christmas they build an ice skating rink at a promenade near the civic center.  We have taken the girls every year since I can't remember when.  It is festive and beautiful and I have photos and home movies that go back at least 15 years.  I have watched them, year after year, as they and their dad would skate and wobble on the ice.  I remember seeing each one of them get up for the first time.  I watched them all cling to the rails but ultimately find their balance and triumph.  But I have never pulled on the skates.  Ever. 

Until now.

Initially I had ordered 5 tickets but when I went to pick them up I decided at the last second to by one for myself.  I don't know what came over me.  I have bad ankles and I am not athletically inclined.  I am afraid of the ice.  I could slip.  Easily.  And I would either break both my wrists trying to break my fall or I might fall backward and break my tail bone as I landed on my backside.  Or I might die.  But this year, I opted to stare "death by ice" in the face.

I felt really stupid.  I didn't even know how to unbuckle the skates.  Amanda had to put them on me.  But once on, I was able to stand.  And walk.  I waited until all the real skaters left the waiting area and got on to the ice.   No need to rush into it.  And then I waited in line behind all the little children being coaxed on for the first time by their parents.  And once they were actually on the ice, I got on.  Behind them.  So there I was.  On the ice at the end of the line of real beginners - aged 2 to maybe 8.  And me.  Bundled up for snow (it was freezing!) and clinging for life to the rail with all the babies while everyone else whizzed by us at the lightening speed of about a quarter miles per hour.  One of my legs flew out in front of me and I screamed as I tightened my grip on the railing to save myself from imagined calamities.  Calamities that end with me in the ER.  But I righted myself and forged ahead - the giant among the dwarfs.  Like a great big duck following a line of little ducklings.  I looked like Baby Huey.

We ("the clingers") slowly followed one another and were able to go about 6 steps at once before someone slipped or got scared or needed their diaper changed.  And when one stopped, we all stopped because none of us had the courage to let go of the rail to get around the clog.  Being clearly the oldest by about 50 years, I routinely grabbed under the arm of any child close enough to reach to stop them from tumbling all the way down when they would lose their footing.  Parents seemed relieved to have a baby sitter of sorts there and I found I was being abandoned - left alone with their little ones as they took a quick turn around the rink, unencumbered.  I found myself getting angry at the people who held us up even further while they leaned against the rail to take group photos "okay now I'll take a picture and you get in the shot"...

Apart from being a little bit humiliating it was, frankly, a big bore.  And I watched as my husband and kids were having fun - holding hands, smiling, breezing by me - again and again and again.  And pretty soon I realized that clinging on to the rail was just like having your dad hold the back of the bike as you learned to ride.  You didn't really need him.  So after about 15 minutes I let go of the rail, grabbed the girls' hands and moved away from the edge, onto the freedom of the ice.  And it was oooo-kaaaay.  I didn't fall and I was able to feel my balance.  I wobbled a bit but mostly just glided.  I grew exceedingly proud of myself.  Me the uncoordinated.  Me the fraidy cat.  Me with the weak ankles and bad knees.  I was skating!

I could not believe I was actually doing it, sort of, in an awkward, skittish kind of way but nonethless.  It was like - a Christmas miracle.

I kept telling everyone to "look at me!" but no one really understood why I was acting like they owed me some kind of applause or something until I reminded them I had never done it before.  And every one of my kids as well as my husband were astonished because they had never realized that in all these years I had only sat and watched.  While they couldn't remember it, they had assumed I had participated at some time.  So they were happy to take turns skating with me.  And it felt wonderful.  Picking up a little speed and feeling the cold, crisp air against my face made me feel like a young girl again.  And we glided round and round and round for the better part of an hour.

It felt like Christmas.  All that was missing was those Charlie Brown kids singing "Christmas Time is Here".

But as soon as we got home, I got some hot chocolate, sat by the tree, and listened to the CD.

A quick peek found no clothes on the floors of the girls' rooms.

Holiday perfection.