A number of my mommy friends have been taking their three- or four-year-olds to ice skating classes, so it seems at least fairly anticlimactic for me to post about my kindergartener going ice skating for his friend's birthday party. Truth be told, ice skating is not Smunch's thing. He loves the idea of it. I even took him once on a whim, to a local rink at lunchtime one day. The place was empty. We each rented skates and paid for entry. That $20 paid for him to skate around the rink once, clinging to the side the whole time.
This time was a little different. He's a little older and he really wanted to go. In addition, a number of his classmates were there. Unfortunately (for me!) a party like this really necessitates the parents coming along. Smunch couldn't skate on his own and it's not like they close down the rink for the birthday party. It was crowded and as quaint as this particular place is, it's small. So, I went and shelled out the money to get myself into the party. (Oh, wait, I forgot to pay, didn't I? Ooops.)
Here was the rough sequence of events for Smunch:
A brave smile and then it's the best time of all...
Zamboni time! (Thank goodness!)
Oh, and hot chocolate time, which ranks a close second to the Zamboni.
One more fall on his butt...
...and off he goes!
Hmm. Could learning to ice skate be a good metaphor for raising children? It's beginning to feel that way. It's all about the gradual process of letting go and being willing to fall and get up again, isn't it?