Leanna Kay

I recently took the kids ice skating. Ice skating always seems like a good idea when you’re in the comfort of your own home, sipping hot chocolate and paging through a Currier and Ives calendar. But the reality of ice skating with children is nothing like those idyllic photos from days gone by.

The truth hit me halfway through our first rotation around the rink. Lauren was clinging to me and yanking on my hand hard enough to send me butt first onto the ice more times than should be possible in a distance of twenty feet. I was trying to shake out the ice shards which had lodged themselves in my butt crack when I realized something significant. I was not having fun.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not get Lauren to wrench her hand free from mine even though she was gripping hard enough to leave bruises. I reminded her that last year she was skating just fine. All by herself. I told her if she just let go, she’d get her balance and be off in no time. I pointed out that it wasn’t lack of skill holding her back. It was fear.

My words didn’t have the desired effect. Instead of empowering the child, I was making her cling tighter. If my life had the qualities of a Hallmark card, I’d be able to tell you that now was the time when I drew upon my wells of maternal patience and did exactly the right thing to help my child in her time of need. Someday, Lauren would tell her children about how patiently her mother was when taught her to skate. Yeah, that didn’t happen. My best parenting has never occurred when my butt’s been frozen solid.

As Lauren clung tighter, I had the sudden image of a poor Mama bird who’d spent weeks regurgitating worms for her offspring. Offspring who just refused to leave the nest in search of their own dinner. I finally understood what gave the Mama bird the power to boot her little babies from the nest.

I wrenched Lauren’s hand free from mine and skated ahead about ten feet.

“Mom!” She screamed like I’d suddenly offered to sell her to pedophiles. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for you.” I held my hands out so she could skate to me.

“You’re too far away.” She was still looking at me like I was a crazy woman, but she was inching closer ALL BY HERSELF.

I skated an inch toward her. “Okay. Now I’m closer. Skate to me.”

And she did. When she finally got close enough to grab me, she steadied herself by gripping my jacket for a second and then she finally let go.

“Just skate behind me, Mom,” she said as she took off on her own. “You were holding my hand so hard anyway that it was starting to hurt.”

[Finally back online.  The blog site has been down all week.]