On Friday night, I learned my limitation. I took ten pre-teen
girls to the ice rink–along with little brother Victor, who had
never ice-skated in his life.

At fortysomething, I had no deep-seated desire to skate; the
girls afterall would skate by themselves and completely ignore
me. I was cold. I was sore from my early-morning tennis game and
half-hour workout with weights. In tiny Ridgefield, Connecticut
in January, ice skating on a Friday night is as good as it gets:
the place was packed. Clearly two hundred children and hormone-
impaired middleschoolers were lacing up, while little Victor
begged me to skate alongside him, at this never-before-seen rink, with an almost-desperate look on his face.

Of course I had to oblige. “How tough could this be anyway?” I
thought as I snapped on my rented skates. “I work out everyday,”
I reassured myself. I skated as a kid. We’ll take it slowly. I
look the part, what with my jeans, turtleneck, and down vest. I
mean…I could pass for one of these kids if you caught me at the right angle!

We got onto the ice, Victor holding my hand with a look of “Can I do this, Mom?” and me with an “it’s-like-riding-a-bike-you-never-forget-how” assurance.

The first time around was, well, awkward would be an
understatement. I was wobbly. Victor held me up. When I asked him how he was doing, he was clearly in control. “I rollerblade,
remember, Mom?” Oh yeah…that.

Dozens of wiry boys…barely as high as my kneecap…who had
clearly been skating since they could crawl…zigzagged in and
out of my path like cockroaches when caught in the dark by a quickly-turned-on light. Whippersnappers! In and out they skated, so fast and with such precision that it took my misted-breath away.

Did I mention the strobe lights? Just when I thought it was safe
to look down and see where I was going, the lights playing on the ice only made me dizzy. I was reassured by my assessment when Victor exclaimed: “Mom, don’t look down! You’ll throw up!”

By the third or fourth time around, I was feeling much more
confident. But when a pre-teen girl caught sight of a hottie and
abruptly skated backwards…directly in front of me…I was
knocked smack on the ice. I landed on my wrists, and fully
realized how hard the ice really is…and how much more brittle
my bones are at my age…when I picked myself up with a half-
laugh and an under-my-breath grunt of “I hope he was worth it.”

We were great, Victor and I. He took to the ice like a duck to
water and passed me whenever he could, checking in with me every
few dozen yards to make sure I was still alive. The second crash
was my swan song; I exited to the slightly warmer viewing room
with ice on my butt and two clearly bruised wrists, totally
ticked off that these kids had gotten the best of me.

Five minutes later, I reminded myself why I was there in the
first place: I had a 9-year-old son who needed me, for crying out loud! It was back to the ice for another half-hour. Round and round we went, avoiding the whippersnappers and pre-teen girls with a vengeance. My daughter and her nine friends?
Forgetaboutem. Caught in their own little world-on-ice, checking
out each face that whirled past them, I was only the night-time
driver and MasterCard-holder.

The evening ended with hot cocoa drunk by giggling, rosy-cheeked
girls. Victor, encouraged by my proddings of “You’re doing so
great!” now had his sights set on ice hockey. And my left wrist,
though clearly black and blue from a dozen broken blood vessels,
was not much worse for the wear.

Will we do that again? Absolutely. Cold air, oxygen to the brain, rosy cheeks, laughter, friends, bonding with my kids, and a sense of community in this New England town of mine are just too compelling.

Looking like a fool when I fall? Black-and-blue reminders of my
middle age? Bruises to my ego? Well…that’s all part of
motherhood.

Keeping the spirit of the holidays after the holidays have
clearly passed is one of the challenges of being a Rocket Mom.
Keep your eyes wide open for opportunities throughout the next
couple winter months to create special memories with your kids.
Be it snow-skiing, ice skating, or sledding; or creating unique
pottery at your local paint bar…be prepared for giggles and memory-making…and check your ego at the door.