Push, push, glide.

"Mommy can we go ice skating?"  "Mommy can we go skating now?"  "Mom! Can we PLEASE go skating?" "MOM. PLEASE. SKATE.". Holy hell girl, I love you but simmer down.  

We drive by the neighbour skating rink everyday, multiple times, and she even attends out of school care on the same property as the rink.   I can't avoid it, I can't pretend it's closed.  She sees it constantly, therefore, I'm asked constantly.   The weather here has been a bit bananas since the new year and I'm also a wuss.  I don't do things outside if it's any colder than zero (my husband just rolled his eyes, he knows that's a lie.  My baseline outdoor temperature tolerance is probably closer to twelve to fifteen). We had what feels like a month of minus 40 weather, even though the ice was open, it was way too cold to be outside.  After the deep freeze, in true Calgary fashion, had an awesome Chinook weather moment and had two weeks of sunny, +8 degrees.  In her mind the rink went from closed (too cold) to closed (too warm).  She didn't understand why I had to go to work and couldn't skate at 9:30am on a Wednesday, for the hot minute the rink was open.  And on top of that, she's learning to read, so she knows the word 'closed' on the sign at the entrance to the rink.  When that white sign is posted she reluctantly doesn't ask me.   I can't get away with telling her it's closed, while looking at her dead in the eye and lying to her.  Crap.  Guess I'm going skating. 

I had taken her a handful of times last winter, bundled right up (her and I, for the record. I think I was in like 3 layers of clothes/jacket/snowpants) and we borrowed a skate trainer from a lovely neighbourhood mom.  As I click her into these itty-bitty tiny skates I warn her, this is nothing like walking.  You're going to fall, a lot, but it won't really hurt.  She asked me if it hurts when I fall down and I tell her absolutely, but because I'm old and fat and fall harder.  I tell her she's closer to the ground and tougher than me, so it won't hurt.  She seems to believe me.  Phew.  I said a little pretend prayer and stood her up on two feet.  She fell sideways.  Lovely.  

We walk to the edge of the ice and step on.  There is fear in my bones.   I am so afraid she's going to fall hard and I'm so, so afraid I'm going to fall hard.  I think about having to call my husband to pick us up because someone is injured. I have flashbacks to being a kid, skating at the local public arena on the weekends.  I spent years in and out of hockey rinks, class trips and figure skating lessons.  But what I remember the most is the backyard rink my step-dad and mom would build us every year.  A monster of a backyard rink, from the initial planning to the early morning flooding.  A meticulous work of art cared for lovingly by our parents who just wanted us to be kids.  We skated before school and after school. We skated after the sun went down, and when it did, my brother flooded the ice one more time for the night. The neighbourhood kids were always in our backyard, hooting and hollering.  Body checking and scoring goals on their best friends.  Actually, as I type this, I think I remember one time where we came home from something and there were kids skating on our rink!  We weren't even home!   But this ice was home for these kids.  There was hot chocolate on the stove warming our bellies and in the basement, on the coldest nights a wood fire to huddle around, warming the frozen fingers, toes and noses of our family. 

We took a deep breath and held hands. She stepped on the ice and fell, stood up, and fell.  With all of the confidence in the world, she grabbed the skate trainer and we were off! Push, push, glide.  

This sentence comes from the one, the only, Mrs. Mommy Pig.  Peppa Pig is rather influential in the life of a four year old girl and we watched the "Peppa learns to skate" episode a hundred times leading up to this.  Mommy Pigs famous advice to 'push, push, glide' was the only thing I had to lean on.  I have coached gymnastics, I was a junior lifeguard, but I had no experience in teaching a kid how to skate.  So, push, push glide we did.  For well over an hour.  Madison fell, and got back up more times than I can count.  But she did.  She never gave up.  She pushed this little skate trainer around and around, looking up at me with glee and pride. "Mommy, I'm doing it! I'm skating!" "Yes baby girl! You are! Push, push, glide!".

We went twice last winter, both times arranging to borrow the skate trainer and stalling until it was just the perfect temperature outside for my princess ass.  She improved the second time around, but still clung on tight when ever she reached my arms, or grabbed her bright orange prop to stabilize herself .  The weather turned and the ice rink was no more.  They installed the summer water features and I no longer dreaded being asked to go skating.  Until a month ago. 

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"Mommy can we go ice skating?"  "Mommy can we go skating now?"  "Mom! Can we PLEASE go skating?" "MOM. PLEASE. SKATE." 

A year later.  She watches the Zamboni everyday, we drive by and see kids skating.  I can't hide anymore, I have to go.  But before I do I tell her this year will be different.  A group of moms and I went out a few weeks prior to this and one mom has her boy in skating lessons.  She passed on this piece of advice "If they can walk, they can skate.  Do not bring the skate trainer".  And I did not.  She has upgraded to a kids size girls figure skate, and no underhand support.  I'm not sure I'm ready for it- let alone her!  I think the temperature is about five degrees outside so I bundle myself in just two layers and huff and puff getting us all laced up.  To be fair, we're indoors putting our skates on, so in my lined thermal pants and snowpants and jacket and mask and toque, I'm sweating.  I take a break while she runs around the room.    I stand facing her and tell her how to put her leg between my thighs so I can do up her laces.  I have flashbacks of 5am hockey practices and my parents reefing hockey tape around my brothers legs.   We are laced up and ready to try this again, I hold her hand as we walk to the ice.   She looks scared and excited but I tell her she's going to do just fine!  She steps on the ice, and I follow behind her.  Without even a hesitation she is gone.  Push, push, glide.  She slows to a stop, falls over and laughs.  "Mommy! I did it!  All by myself!" "You sure did baby, I'm so proud of you!"  She struggles to get herself back on her feet and there's a tiny part of me that's laughing at her.  It's a bit of a mixed emotion, laughing and pride.   She has not even questioned that she can't do it, that it could be hard, she just gets back up and she keeps going.   I teach her how to use her knee and one arm to push herself up off the ice, that seems to add another layer of confidence.   We set small goals like lets' skate from here to the edge, or here to the fire pit.  She makes it almost every time, a few spills here and there.  But she's happy and proud of herself.  As her mom I'm happier and more proud than she'll ever understand.  I send videos of the action to dad and gramma and her uncle.  She is a better skater than I thought she could be after just her third try.  She skates around this little rink saying "I can be just like Tessa one day!" (Kudos to Gramma for the Tessa Virtue Barbie doll!). 

Yes, Maddy, you can be just like Tessa.  You can be anything you want to be baby.⛸⛸