One of my all-time favorite movies is Dirty Dancing. I was a dancer as a youngling and grew quite famous for it in my former imaginary life. I watched and re-watched Flashdance and Fame (the old versions) and still harbor a secret desire to learn how to do the Salsa with my hubby.
So when reviewing the images I took of my daughter during one of her skating lessons yesterday, this one made my heart jump all the way into my throat:
When exactly did my little girl get so grown up? She’s almost as tall as her coach! When she began skating lessons two years ago, she barely came up to Coach Nick’s waist.
No, she isn’t ice dancing…yet, but that is her ultimate goal.
Skating fills her with joy. Her intense concentration may at times make her appear to be having a less than stellar — even an angry — time of it:
…but in the end, after her workouts, elated excitement spills out all over her countenance.
Yes, I do travel twenty miles to the skating rink with bare feet, uphill, both ways, in the 106 degree heat, four days a week for this girl child of mine…
…but it is time well spent. This smile on her face is REAL and is why I freeze my bee-hind off on a regular basis.
Besides, what else is there to do on a day when the thermometer hits 108 and the weatherman keeps promising a cold front is on the way but there is no sign of it and you are burning with hot flashes and are about to spontaneously combust?
One day I will slip on her old pair of skates and venture out on the ice myself not to skate but to lay myself down on that refreshing sheet of ice. But not on the hockey side. Because it stinks.
But I digress. Or is it regress? I can’t remember.
Who am I?
Where am I?
Blame it on the fact that the chipper, friendly phlebotomist sucked nine vials of blood out of me today. My brain cells are operating on whatever it is they use when there’s not any more iron. Maybe I should go lick a cast iron skillet? No, that would be gross, unless it was used to bake brownies!
That is all. I better quit while I’m ahead!