The Cutting Edge – Take Two

This weekend we attended an ice-skating birthday party at the outdoor River Rink.

A view of scenic Camden and the Ben Franklin Bridge

It was so old-school! It reminded me of childhood parties at Roller Paul Bunyan Land/This Old Farm Brainerd, MinnesotaKingdom, where we strapped wheeled shoes known as roller skates to our feet, and did the hokey pokey under disco lights.

I am not making this up, children of tomorrow!

As I told Sweet Rickey on the phone the other night, I think ice skating might actually be easier than roller skating. This conclusion ** is based upon the following unscientific observations:

  • I have been ice skating twice, and have fallen exactly once.
  • For every time I have gone roller skating, I have fallen probably 4-10 times.
  • I am a klutz.
  • Therefore, if I can ice skate without killing myself, it must be easy.

** Results are not definitive, as we did not hokey pokey on the ice.

You know who hated ice skating the last time we tried it? This guy:

Haters gonna hate.

And again this weekend … not so much with the ice skating. B was incredibly excited in weeks leading up to the party, but once he had the skates strapped onto his feet, his outlook quickly soured. Turns out, ice is slippery! And cold! And rented skates are really uncomfortable!!

Also, it turns out that Mr and I do not respond well to whining.

Mr (who can skate quite well) kept telling B to buck up and stop complaining. I (who cannot skate well at all) tried to take a more encouraging route — “Come on, if I can do it, anyone can do it!” — while performing a 180° turn and coming to a screeching stop in oncoming skate traffic.

Y’all? The 180 turn is a cool trick, if you do it on purpose.  (Other smooth moves included the one where my legs sloooowly slide in different directions, rather like Bambi on ice, while I flail my arms about like a windmill.)

Like a gazelle.

Undaunted by the miserable five year old, we soldiered on.

Wait, what? That doesn’t sound right. This is what really happened:

B threw a fit, then I threw a fit, and the two of us sat on the sidelines and pouted at each other, and at Mr – who, being the only one in this family who doesn’t regularly throw public fits, finally announced that he had had enough drama, and skated off to enjoy himself (and probably pretend he had no idea who we were).

Once pouting got old (well, it never really gets old, but pouting with your five-year-old is a little embarrassing),I looked around and noticed that the birthday girl had funny double-runner ‘training skates,’ which I had only ever seen on little bitty kids (under 4). Although Mr was told by the Rink staff that the skates were only for ‘little kids’ (sidebar: we are talking about a five-year old. Let’s define “little kid,” shall we?), the mom hosting the party wrangled us a pair.

After a birthday lunch break (where B INHALED two hotdogs) we stuffed B into his snow suit, strapped on the skates, and circled the rink several times before it was time to leave. What a huge difference! I don’t know if it was the snow suit (keeping him warm and dry) or the skates (making him less wobbly), but even though he slipped down many, many times, B was totally loving it. (I was loving it slightly less, because it is hard to keep your balance while skating ‘with’ a 45 pound kindergartener.) Either way, as we followed the Zamboni out of the rink, B asked,

When can we come back here?


The boys, pre-skate.

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