During A and J's first ice skating lesson I spent the entire time sitting on my hands, not because of the cold, but because I just wanted to go help them up. But I didn't. Of course, they were on the other side of the ice and getting to them would have required me walking across the ice on my hiking boots, but I digress. They spent most of the half hour in various poses on the ice, including splayed, face first, flat on their back and kneeling. I was sure that it was all over and they would never want to go back to the rink again.
But then, they stood up. They shuffled across the ice, arms out in the Frankenstein pose used so often as one year olds learning to walk. They turned, fell and got up. And they were smiling. Smiling.
During free skate time, they continued with the smiling. And the falling. And, most importantly, the getting up. They skated for the whole half hour and I had to drag them off the ice. I'm sure that no one at the rink that night was more proud of their kids than I was.
