I can skate.

I read in the paper that there was a lake open for skating.

"I think I'll go skating this afternoon," I said.

"Can you skate?" Bill asked with surprise.

"Sure!" I said. And then I hesitated.

I have not skated since, oh, 8 years. And before that it was an equally long time. I pulled my dusty white figure skates off their nail on the wall in the garage and wiped them off. I felt some hesitation at the lake, but I pushed myself out of the car and headed for the lake and laced up. I watched the kids playing ice hockey on one end and the couples and a family figure skating on the other end. I took a deep breath and headed out for the ice. It was glorious. I skated in the late afternoon sun and felt the exhilaration of propelling myself over ice. I worked up as much speed as I dared.

The ice was imperfect. No zambonis on the lake. As I went over the ridges in the frozen water I recalled ponds in the Sandhills and the flooded city park in Fremont. There was no bonfire on the side of the lake though, so after 45 minutes, I headed for home.

Bill carefully inspected me when I came in the door.

"No broken ankles?" he asked.

"Nope. I can skate," I said proudly.

And I think I'll go back again today.

Full Moon

I took the kids to Pioneer Park last night. There was a full moon rising over the sledding hill and it lit up the hill which had a small crowd of kids and parents taking advantage of the light. I wished very much that I had a camera. The kids slid down the snowy/icy hill and squealed and laughed and went up and down so many times that they did not even know how many sled runs they made.

I told them it was the last one and the girls were on their way up the hill when their brother went down one last time. I did not see the accident, but apparently it was pretty spectacular. Mary was walking up the hill with her sisters, when she got hit by an adult on a sled and she flew up in the air and then landed on the ground. She hurt "all over" but what scared me most was her hand. It had a huge lump that was growing larger and her voice let me know that something was really wrong. This is not a whiny kid.

I dropped the dog and other kids off at the house and drove her to the Emergency Room.

It was a full moon at the Emergency Room too. But luckily we were quickly separated from the grown ups and we waited in the Pediatric ER to learn that nothing was broken. She is wrapped in bandages and enjoying the attention and retelling of the story. She is sore this morning, but not really the worse for wear.

I heard the weather report this morning while I was fixing breakfast. They are predicting snow on Christmas. My first thought was, "Oh good! I can take the kids sledding!" Then I thought of my little Mary propped up in bed with ice packs. You know what? She'll probably be up for sledding anyway...

Peanut Butter Fudge and Christmas Cards

I do very few things to "get ready for the holidays." I keep meaning to get out the North Pole Village for the kids, but I haven't done that yet. Nor have I gotten out my Christmas Fiestaware dishes. Plenty of time.

The kids and I have been working on some crafts to give as gifts. One of the crafts we did was homemade Christmas cards and envelopes. I loved them. Mary made the stamps for the cards and helped me cut and fold the envelopes. I addressed and mailed them on Monday. And on Tuesday they started coming back. They're not the right size for the postal service, I guess. I am not sure what I am going to do. I need to see how many stamps got canceled. I may buy bigger envelopes (which ruins the whole recycled homemade envelope idea) and take them all into the post office and beg forgiveness for not using the right size envelope. I might just toss all of my attempted Christmas cheer in the trash. (Do you see what happens when I try to be traditional and Christmas-y and cheery?!)

The kids and I made peanut butter fudge last night, which is an amazing concoction. I am not a fudge person, but I love that stuff. I boxed the fudge up this morning for teacher gifts and office cookie trays and I ate a piece for breakfast. Mmmm. Peanut butter fudge.

"Are you ready for the holidays?" people ask me.

"Yeah, sure. I need to remail my Christmas cards and stop eating fudge for breakfast. I need to set up the North Pole Village and get out my Christmas dishes." But that's the superficial stuff, isn't it. No one really cares if I am ready for Christmas in a spiritual way. I struggle with that in a pretty hard core way and take it more seriously than most, perhaps, which is why it bothers me so.

I slipped down an unscooped sidewalk in the park last night on a "run" with the dog which amounted to us running when possible and walking when not possible. The ice is pretty scary which makes going out fun in a sort of sick way. It felt good to be out in the cold with her though and I enjoy seeing her absolute joy at being outside in the snow and with me and having no doubt that nothing could make her any happier at that moment than bounding through the snow at my side. That is how I want so desperately to feel - full of love and acceptance and peace - for everyone, even the Postal Service. It's how most of us try to feel at Christmas. The mistake that we make is that we try to achieve that feeling by buying stuff and decorating stuff and baking stuff.

Peanut butter fudge comes pretty close to making me feel that way, but not as much as my goofy, goofy dog. I needed her reminder of that feeling last night. I will stack the Christmas cards as they get returned and then I will take Sadie for a run in a snowy park before I decide what to do with them. I think it's more likely that they will reach their intended destinations that way.

"Peanut Butter Fudge? Is dog treat for me?"

The 5k Jingle Bell Run

A couple inches of snow (and more coming down as we ran), 16 degrees, and hot chocolate at the finish line! The most "fun" Fun Run of the year.

But Moooooooom!

There are parenting moments that bring back recollections of my own childhood. Sometimes it is a treasured story, or visiting a childhood neighborhood with my kids, or tucking my kids into bed at my parent's house beneath an afghan that I remember curling up in as a child.

And sometimes it's a shopping trip to Target the night before a vocal music concert where I find myself saying things like, "That's not appropriate. I want it to be an outfit. I want you to look nice." I can feel the words coming out of my mouth and then look around for my mom. Surely I didn't just say that?! Who is this frantic mom who can't agree on an outfit with her thirteen year old? How did I get here and who am I?

I vetoed the babydoll top with spaghetti straps and a satin bow over her cleavage. ("But, mom, it's so cuuuuuute!") I also vetoed the sleeveless georgette blouse with a quilted vest over the top. ("But, mom, the vest will keep me warm!" she said. "Yeah, so would sleeves," I said.)

Salvation came in the form of 10 year old with more fashion sense then the teenager and myself put together. She zeroed in on the "glam" need of the 13 year old and found a black skirt with a sheen and an appropriate shape for a 13 year old (not a skin tight mini skirt) and then paired it with a long sleeved shirt in red with a scoop neck and a fitted bodice. The teen looked at the selection warily, but she tried it on and then pranced out of the dressing room looking perfect.

My "perfect outfit" was for my 9th grade orchestra concert, which was on a Thursday night. We were at the mall on Wednesday night and we were at our wits end and then we found a burgundy skirt with an evergreen sweater with a burgundy design woven into it. It came from Schwezers. I wore that outfit for years and I still have the sweater. Maybe I should have given it to Anna to try.

Your Premanent Record

Story telling fascinates me. I love the way Quentin Tarantino tells a story. He breaks things into bits and takes things out of context that are later given context. When does the story start? Things are usually not completely linear. You actually have to take things out of order to make them make more sense. Who wants to read something or watch something in real time? You take out the extraneous stuff unless it is part of the story. Sometimes eating breakfast in your underwear is part of the story and tells you something about the character and sometimes it's just eating breakfast in your underwear.

Mary got suspended from school, that's one place to start the story. And then I would tell you that it was for kicking someone in the knee so badly that he needed to go to the doctor.

And then I could tell you that this is someone who has been harassing her for literally years.
I could tell you that my kid has never been in trouble like this before this year. And that when the principal called me yesterday and told me there was a group of girls and a boy involved that I immediately guessed who the girls were and who the boy was (I actually knew it would be one of two boys who just will not leave her alone.). And I was right.

I could tell you about a girl that has wormed her way into my daughter's life this year and I could describe the circles and the whispering and the notes and that I got a call a few months ago about note passing that got so bad that the girl got in school suspension and my daughter nearly got in school suspension. I could tell you that I like this girl and her parents but that alarms literally go off in the back of my head when I see her around my daughter. Not because she hurts my daughter, but because she encourages behavior that I don't think my daughter would otherwise initiate. And I base that on Mary's history.

So with this, and there's more of course, we are still at the beginning of the story which is that my kid got suspended for kicking another student in the knee.

We got up early, went to the school at 8 and met with the principal, vice principal and classroom teacher who was there when this all happened yesterday.

You could take things out of context and just have the incident that happened yesterday after school, or you can take the history of this kid and that kid and look at things with the bigger picture. The story can be the five minutes after school or it can be the five years these kids have been in school together. The school looked at the story in a five year context and for that reason the suspension is only a day and not three days or five days or a disenrollment at the school that I got special permission for my kids to attend.

On our way out we passed Mary's friend and her dad the soccer coach. They were there to talk to the principal too. He looked genuinely surprised to see us there.

"Practicing your soccer?" he asked Mary.

Well, her kicking anyway, I thought to myself.

"So let me get this straight," my little delinquent said after we left the school and went to a coffee shop, "I get suspended for kicking a boy who won't leave me alone, and you take me out for a muffin and hot chocolate."

"Well, yeah, I guess so," I said. I have never understood suspension. How is not going to school a punishment exactly?

Her dad and I sat over coffee with her and figured out how we could work today out and her dad informed her that she was spending her day on school work and an apology letter. I told her that her slumber party with her friend - the one who contributed to the problem yesterday - was now canceled.

And, of course, the story is not over.