Gulp.

"OMG!" exclaimed G from the family room first thing this morning.  "Did the remote control shrink?" 

I was tired.  I actually thought for a moment.  Then said "No, dear. Maybe your hand has grown?"

G, almost 9, protested.  "Really, I mean, literally, the remote control is SKINNIER THAN IT WAS YESTERDAY.  Do you think I really grew?  Like, really?  OMG!  Let me see your hand."

She held her hand up against mine.  Gulp.

My baby is growing up.

Happy Family Day, G.  Eight years since we became a forever family, forever blessed by you.

Ice Ice Baby

I feel a certain amount of pressure, due to my heritage and upbringing, to be able to ice skate.  Growing up in Canada was all about ice - the boys down the block would flood the dead-end street so it would freeze for their ice-hockey games.   Growing up Asian American I felt absolutely related to Tiffany Chin, Kristy Yamaguchi, and Michelle Kwan, except that they are all divas on ice and I am, well, not.  Ice is cold.  And slippery.  And hard! 

Last week I took the girls to their first ice skating lessons, wobbled out onto the rink myself and immediately grabbed the rail and decided not to let go.  Meanwhile, little R (not yet 4) was tap dancing, shuffle-step-scooting her way across the rink toward her instructor, and G (almost 9) was up - and then down! - and then up again, laughing the deep belly laugh that comes from being surprised and out of one's element, both of them giddy as can be.

I was enjoying watching them from the side until I realized kids were careening out of control all around me and crashing into the rail.  Yikes!  Suddenly, my "I'm nervous, I need this rail" Kid-brain turned into "Somebody help these children!" Mom-brain, and I moved away to make room.  A few steps and it's coming back to me a bit, the feeling of pushing, sliding and scraping under my feet.  Not so bad, kind of fun actually, gathering a little speed.  Fun that is, until I realized I don't know how to stop.  I spent 4 laps wondering how I was going to stop without crashing into someone, wishing there would be an uphill somewhere to slow me down - why are these ice rinks so flat??  Eventually, I made my way to to edge and slowed down, in time to watch my girls, little happy-feet penguins, tottering toward me as proud as can be.

"Do you want to try another lesson next week?" I asked.  "Yes!" they both exclaimed.  So we'll be back to learn - how to stop for me, and how to go for them.  Which is somehow exactly the way it should be.

Say it, Sister!

3-year-old R, happily singing to herself:

"Jack and Jill went up the hill,
To fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown

...And Jill came down and fixed the problem."

Dashing through the snow

For one who grew up in Canada, I'm not so big on winter.  Not only is it terrifying (to one afraid of slipping, falling, accelerating, frostbite, hypothermia) it is also hugely inconvenient.  To spend 20 minutes stuffing children into snowsuits, boots, mittens, hats for my 3-yr old to say upon stepping outside "MY FACE IS COLD!!!" makes the thought of popping in another DVD and baking cookies hugely appealing. 

But tonight, when we heard some friends were out playing on the frozen pond near our house, and both girls, in a rare moment of wanting the same thing at the same time begged "PLEEEASE Mom, can we go?"  I, being me, thought "IT'SALMOSTDARKWHATIFTHEYFALLTHROUGHTHEICEWHATIFTHEROPEONTHESLEDBREAKSWHATIFI'MNOTSTRONGENOUGHTOPULLTHEMTHROUGHTHEWOODSTHISCOULDBEADISASTER" and then did something completely unlike me.  I said "OK, I'll get the flashlight."

The last time we went sledding I rolled off the sled and fell knee deep through the ice into a swamp.  Such is my luck.  I had sworn I was going to keep our kids away from this pond even though our village had inspected the ice and given the green light for skating.  But there's something about twilight on Friday after a long week that makes you want to make someone's wishes come true.

So off we went, through the woods, me pulling the girls on the sled.  The girls, usually squabbling, delirious with delight, swishing through the snow.  Meeting up with our friends at twilight, a friend's child skating for the first time, my own marveling "WE'RE WALKING ON THE POND!  CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS?"  Shining the flashlight to try to see through the ice. 

On the way back, it's almost dark.  I feel like a hero, taking my daughters on this ride, hearing their happiness behind me and breathing it in with the cold night air.  Laughing all the way.