How to While Away a Drowsy Sunday

So. Last night we made plans to meet with friends of ours at 10:30 this morning, some 45 minutes away. Before that time, we were going to quickly pick up for Spilly a pair of skates, a helmet, and a push-along-the-ice thing to help her with balance. We thought we might also get Daddy a pair of skates, as he also doesn't know how. Then we and our friends would head to an ice rink near their home for the Family Skate at eleven o'clock.

We were at the doors of Canadian Tire just as they opened at nine o'clock. Off we trotted to the Sports department, filled with purpose. And the skate shelves were nearly bare. No skates, no helmets, no pushy things. But a lot of spring stuff, in the middle of February.

So off we raced to another Canadian tire. There we found a helmet, and skates for Spilly and Daddy. Oh, and skate guards. By now it was too late to make it to our friends' place by 10:30. Plus there were some wicked squalls coming in off the lake, and the winds were up to nearly 100 km/hr.

So we called the friends. They suggested we all reschedule for the following week. We agreed, then determined we would find our own Family Skate in our town.

Then we sat in the car and thought, where else can we look for a push-on-the-ice thing? We headed to a couple more sports stores, while Hubby, behind the wheel, squinting through the white-outs, began saying gritted-teeth things like, "This is starting not to be fun."

There were no pushy-ice things anywhere. So we went home, in time for hubby to go out and be an icicle in the backyard with the hose, on our "rink" that is one in name only because it is a kind of spongey crust at the moment (just so you know, I did offer to go out, more than once, but he nobly refused, and I cheerfully accepted his refusal).

While he was out there, I got the bright idea of calling sports stores. And I ended up speaking with a lovely young man who may or may not have been entranced by my currently husky voice (thank you, influenza), because he began actively searching online himself. And he found me a push-ice thing in the next town to ours.

Well!

I shouted the good news to my half-frozen hubby, who said weakly, "Oh, great."

So after a hearty lunch and some warm white tea, we all piled yet again in the car and headed to the next town over. I don't know how you describe white-outs that are getting more intense than the previous white-outs, but that's what we faced the whole way. We got there in one piece, and in we went to the Canadian Tire, where they were holding our ice-pusher at the Hockey Desk.

Home we went in high spirits to research whether there would be Family Skates anywhere. Turned out the only one left was already going on, and would end in just over an hour and a half.

Not a problem! Hubby opened the ice-push box, to find that the "easy assembly" was going to be slightly less easy than advertised. Particularly with Spilly wandering away with pieces that she kept turning into other things. "This is my telescope!"

Half an hour later, though, it was assembled, and we were throwing skates, helmets, etc., into a carry bag. More slithering in white outs.

We got to the arena, and the girl behind the desk said, "Did you know it's ending in half an hour?"

"Yes," we said. "We know."

She waved us in.

And what followed can best be described with a good old-fashioned Charlie Brown "Aauugh." No sooner had we gotten on the ice than a power mother shot up to us (with excellent balance, I might add), bellowing, "They're not going to let you have that on the ice."

Yes, the ice-pushy thing. Not allowed on the ice.

Several other moms were quite interested in it, though. "Where did you get that?"

"Canadian Tire," we said grimly.

"Oh, really? I've never seen it there."

"No, it's not at every location."

So the two of us--me with my minimal skating skills, and hubby with his nonexistent skating skills--tried to hold Spilly up between us while she undulated back and forth, her feet flying up backward and forward. Children half her size whizzed past us in all directions.

After about five minutes, she sat down on the ice. "My feet hurt."

"Oh, no!" I said breezily. "We just got here! Let's just do a little more!"

So for the next twenty minutes or so, we laboriously inched back and forth along the boards, while Spilly moaned about how horrible it all was, and my back began to seriously consider snapping just above my waist.

When the whistle blew to signal the end of Family Skate, I felt we had had more than enough for our first experience.

All the way home in the car, though, Spilly kept up a running monologue: "I love skating! When are we going skating again? Can we go tomorrow? Daddy, will they let us take the holder on the ice tomorrow? Daddy, can we go skating on our rink tonight....?"

Hubby was silent, very silent.