I only sustained one burn from yesterday’s big meal, which is pretty amazing considering how much I had my hands in the oven and on the stove.
I’m a “clean it up that night” person. I try to clean as I go, and whatever is left I try to knock it out that night so I can get up to a clean kitchen. This is good when your son is a junior eating machine, who wakes up at 6:30 a.m. even on a weekend, airhorn mouth blaring that he’s STARVING, despite consuming about 10,000 calories the day before. Oh, to have that metabolism again.
So I made him a tiny egg sandwich on a roll, which he ignored. He did eat a pumpkin pot du creme finally, after I took off the whipped cream (the bourbon in it was too ‘spicy’ for him, which is probably a good thing), and he had about 2 cups of leftover noodles. I had one of the leftover pots du creme myself for breakfast, including the whip, and it was darned tasty.
I felt like a whale after yesterday’s meal, and spent an entire hour late morning doing a long workout video to combat the flab. I really wanted to go out for a run, even though it’s raining, but my foot says no, still recovering from the Turkey Trot.
After the hour-long lifting workout and a shower, my son reminded me that I promised him I’d take him roller skating some Saturday. So of course that ended up being today. But they didn’t open until two.
We went to a couple of small businesses for small business Saturday, at which I didn’t even buy anything except a coffee, sort of defeating the purpose of shopping local. But I saw a lot of things I want, if that counts. Then it was on to the skating rink, which apparently was NOT the one they went to at camp this summer, and he was mad it was a different one. Sorry kid. A rink is a rink.
This one looked straight out of my hometown. I could picture getting into a scrap with other kids in the parking lot, or smoking cigarettes and drinking beer in someone’s car in the shoddy parking lot in front of the place, which was sandwiched in an industrial park area, dotted with shitty, cheap diners and bars and shitty, cheap strip clubs.
It turns out not that much has changed inside a skating rink, except that I am a galumphing, awkward, fat adult now instead of a slim-hipped, straggly haired little girl in a striped sweater and hand-me-down jeans, hoping to get a boy’s attention. There were a couple of birthday parties, and a few girls who were so damned good at skating that my mouth was hanging open at their skill.
When I first put the skates on, I truly, truly feared for my health. I could not imagine how I could possibly pull off accompanying my son on this venture. I know at some point a REALLY long time ago, I knew how to skate. I remember skating. I used to go skating, I swear. My body refused to listen to me. “You have never done this. This is a fool’s errand,” it told me. “You will fall and crack your skull, or dislocate a hip trying not to,” it said.
D refused to use the plastic helper/walker thing, even though all he could do was inch around the outside perimeter of the rink, falling down every 50 feet or so. He admonished me to “stop making that face” every time he fell and finally told me to skate somewhere else away from him, that he could see me anywhere on the rink and I was “making it worse” by being next to him. So off I went, trying very, very hard not to fall on my ass and glancing to wherever he was on the rink as often as I could, without falling. At first it was challenging enough just to hold my legs together, they felt like splaying out like a baby giraffe on a sheet of ice. Then I had to do that while turning my head to spot D wherever he was. This was enough of a challenge. Then they changed up the lights every few minutes, making it dark or disco ball or whatever, and I just thought man, if I look as bad as this feels, it’s no wonder D didn’t want me to skate next to him.
We took several breaks. I was really sweating. D and I got a pop, and we sat out some of the more complicated stuff like all-backwards-skate and the one where they keep going low down whenever the dudes blew their whistles. I was working on staying upright, not about going down into a crouch.
It took almost the whole two hours of open skate for my sense memory to kick in and my muscles to remember exactly what this type of movement was about. I was still really shaky, but seemed to FINALLY remember some of how this felt. I moved quite a bit faster and more smoothly, and had less moments of “oh shit” where I was flailing and almost wiping out. I could actually skate around the corners instead of just praying I didn’t fall down and kill myself. There was something there. This little girl I remembered, and how she used to move. But now she’s a Mom, and there’s this kid to mind, so…
D was really tired and cranky when we left. After the meal yesterday, and all the clean up, and then the lifting and then the skating session, I think I was more tired, but I was also glad I made good on my promise to take him.
It’s a chilly, but not-too-chilly fall night. Tuna noodle casserole, some stretching, and for Mom, some much needed red wine. This whole day has been caffeine, caffeine, caffeine, right up until wine.
But that girl, she was there. I felt her for just a few minutes. I was nostalgically glad I was able to find her, even now after all these years, deep down inside. Her rhythm, her jam, her moxie.
And to my own amazement, I didn’t wipe out once.