Falling on the Ice
“She’s trying really hard.” Kayli says. Fresh off the ice, her cheeks are rosy. Always the big sister, her eyes are serious.
“She is.” I nod, turning my attention back to the massive rink on the other side of the glass.
Among the sea of snow-wear polka dotting the massive rink, I spot my two.
Brody -in grey- taking careful steps, trying every move.
When he falls, his face takes on a look so much like Jason’s I can’t help but search for my other half, wondering if he sees it, too.
Brow furrowed, chin tilted, lips pursed.
He’s back up again, slow stepping out of line, away from the other kids.
Making a mental note to remind him to listen during class, I search for Chloe.
I spot her turquoise. She’s on her knees, pushing to a stand, slipping, having a hard time coming back from her fall.
She looks to me. “You’re okay!” I mouth, knowing how not helpful I’m being.
“Get up!” Kayli calls. She’s moved to another part of the rink, closer to where the other two are having their lesson. “In case they need me.” My heart melts.
Jason, also wanting to be rightthere, has moved across the rink. He’s giving her a thumbs up.
Her eyes fill, mine mirror the feeling.
I want {desperately} to go on the ice and scoop her up, wipe her tears, tell her she never has to try again.
I would never do that, but wow do I want to. Let them fall, I MindWhisper my favorite parenting mantra. {I want her to learn how to get back up.}
She pushes a mittened hand against the ice. Teetering, she stands. And although I’m looking at the 6-year-old version of my girl, I see a toddler trying to stand, rushing to walk, falling with tears.
She’s slumped, I give.
“She’s okay.” Jason mouths across the ice.
Distracted by his calm –helpful, humbling- I note Brody out of line yet again.
His steps are deliberate.
“Listen.” I mouth. He doesn’t notice.
One foot in front of the other, he makes his way around the other children, all the way over to Chloe.
He reaches his small hand –covered and disguised and bulky in a mitten, but still, small- to her.
And I see that she’ll be just fine.
I can let her fall, because I’m not the only one who will teach her how to get back up.
Galit Breen is a Minnesota writer. On any given day she can be found juggling three kids, one husband, one puggle, and her laptop. Galit writes women's fiction, is the series editor of Pens and Paint, an anthology of children's poetry and artwork, and is co-producing Listen to Your Mother Twin Cities 2013. Galit blogs at These Little Waves and - it has to be said - tweets and Facebooks a lot.
20 Responses to “Falling on the Ice”
Stunning words as always. I love reading about your internal Mommy reactions while you externally let your children grow. And you are so very right; you will not be the only one to teach her how to get back up. Beautiful.
Oh thank you so much for your note, my sweet friend.
It’s so very hard to do all of that, isn’t it?
Thanks for being “in it” with me!
xo
We went ice skating over winter break and I remember feeling the same way with my two little ones.
So sweet and beautifully written.
Oh thank you for your words! It’s so nice hearing that from someone else!
We mamas lead with our hearts, don’t we?
Thank you so much for sharing a slice of yours, with me, right here.
[...] Moonfrye, I wrote about ice [...]
I know that feeling. That heart-sinking helplessness of watching them fall followed by that feeling of lightness when you see them get up and try again. Motherhood is like a roller coaster at times, isn’t it? Your words describe those feelings so beautifully.
Thank you, so much, for your note and your words, yes.
But mostly for getting it – perfectly.
A roller coaster, indeed.
One more time: Thank you. {Truly}
xo
The part about having others teach her get back up? Yes, this. That is our hope for our children, yes? That others will be there for them too. xo
What we hope for, indeed.
{Ohmygoodness, so very much.}
Thank you for your note friend.
xo
I love the sentiment at the end of this piece. I wasn’t expecting it, which is surprising, because I should have thought that Brody would help his sister. I just adore the fact that your children so clearly learn FROM you and that they help each other up. What better gift is there to receive than that as a mother? XOXO
Oh you are a love.
Thank you for every last bit of that kindness, and for loving my kids the way you do.
{That means the world to me. Truly.}
xo
You made me laugh with your mouthed words to Brody and cry with everything else. #welldonewiththewords
Oh you and your kindness and your hashtags.
I ADORE you, and am so very grateful for you.
Thank you, friend, so much.
xo
Oh, your kids are so wonderful to each other. I love that it was Brody who helped her in the end. For my part, I sometimes have to throw them off the cliff. There’s a clinic that teaches bike riding skills to kids eight and up. It’s supposed to be awesome for kids on the autism spectrum. (They use a balance bike.) Unfortunately, they weren’t coming close enough to us, and running around the block clutching Caroline’s bike seat wasn’t working. And she refused to shift from side to side and try to keep her balance without using the pedals. So I took her to the park, layered her up in soccer gear in addition to her bike helmet, gloves, and guards, and started dropping her down grassy hills. The first crash jammed her handlebars into her stomach. (Guilt much?) She didn’t want to get back on, but she wanted to be able to ride that two wheeler, so I had to coax her back on, then turn right around and drop her again. And again. (Note: The only lesson she learned that first day was how to crash so her handlebars would never ever smash her stomach like that again. And she learned that immediately, because none of the other crashes were that awful.) After a week, she could keep up for a wobbly couple of pedals before she fell down. And after a month, she nailed it. But it was a long painful month of weekends where I had to judge at every fall whether I should let her pick up the bike and walk back to me, or whether she needed a cheerleader down there helping her back on her feet.
Oh you are a good mom.
It’s so hard to see them fall {literally!}, but it has to be done, right?
I’m so glad you guys found your stride together!
{Thank you so much for your note here, girl! It means the world to me!}
Galit, I love this… I just put a column into the AP system about wanting Emma to be protective of Charlie so very badly and worrying she won’t be… Ironically, I called out the “typical vs. special needs” contrast but, really, this is every parent’s worry. So perfectly written, my friend.
Oh Maureen, thank you so much for the note and the kind and the in-it-togetherness.
This is, indeed, all of our worries and hopes all messily rolled into one, isn’t it?
{I absolutely love that our MamaHearts were thinking about the same things at the same time!}
xo
My 8 year old is good at skiing, not so good at ice skating. But he’s learning. Over the winter holidays we went to Lake Placid and I dragged him to the Big Oval — the Olympic speed skating rink. It takes a while to go around that oval even when you’re fast.
I did a few loops with him, slowly, helping him up when he needed that and giving him some instruction. When time was up and everyone was asked to clear the ice in a minute, I told him I was going to do a quick lap and asked him to head back inside where the rest of the family was waiting.
I enjoyed the speed and the wind in my face as I was going around. By the time I finished the lap I looked back, only to see him making his way around. Slowly, but steadily. It took him a while, but he did it.
I was worried the attendants would be upset that he didn’t leave the ice when he was told. But they just cheered him on and gave him high fives when he finally made it.
So yes, I agree, it’s good to let them try, fall, get up, and then try again. All on their own.
It’s so hard. Sometimes – often – being a good parent is being able to bite our tongues and go against our deepest instincts. I did make a decision that I would have to do this as a mom after going through life having been very protected and sheltered as a child. My mom helped me in the short term, but I paid the price in the long run. You’re a good mom, and you have the sweetest kids! and the most lyrical writing, as always :-)
Oh I love this post Galit. It is so hard to step back and let our children fall, isn’t it? To watch them struggle? But I have never felt more proud as a mother as when I see my kids pick themselves back up. And the part at the end about not being the only one who will teach her to get back up? Perfection.