We're Off to the Icecapades! And Other Roads Paved With Cold Tears.

You know how your Great Aunt Margaret always looks at your baby's long fingers and says she's going to be a piano player? And how that guy bagging your groceries always tells you your slightly-taller-than-average boy is going to be a basketball player? Or how, when you accidentally leave the scissors on the counter and your toddler gets ahold of them, she's going to be a Monster Truck driver for three months because of that sweet mullet she gives herself?

Well...I've got a long-legged African baby. And let me tell you, folks, she's destined to be a runner. At least that's what I've been told by no less than three thousand people in the last two years. If qualifying for the Olympics happened based on popular vote of the people, Ayana would have run last year. It would have been a staggering disappointment for Americans everywhere, but she'd have been there. (Shut up, fact checkers. I know the summer Olympics didn't happen last year.)

But here's the thing about me and my mothering style: I'm not about to shoehorn my kid into the obvious sport path. That would be easy and sensible and a truly practical parenting move. I'm not known for picking that move. I'm known for asking incessantly, what if it's not for her? What if she'd rather knit afghans or play shuffleboard or make Rorschach-type artwork with glue and food coloring?

Or what if, Eric and I asked ourselves this morning, she'd enjoy being an ice skater?! What if? The little outfits are adorable, and her head already looks like one of those fluffy hats all the girls are wearing. Ice skating is popular in Gunni, and something we could do often if she really takes to it! 

If you're not painfully slow like Eric and I, you already know that a two-year-old with mile-long legs has no business on ice. You know she hates wearing mittens, is unimpressed with her lack of coordination on solid ground, and hasn't the required attention span for an hour-long skate session.

But you're smarter than us, so we went ahead and loaded our little lady up, drove into town, and tucked her feet into the smallest pair of skates they had at the rink. This should have been our first clue, guys. Ayana's feet are large. Alarmingly so, for a two-year-old. So if they don't have skates small enough for the regular-sized twos, twos probably don't ice skate, right? Shut up.

One thing I'll say for my girl: she's always up for an adventure. For 40 minutes of the hour free skate, she hung in there. More like clung in there. She never even came close to standing on the ice by herself or with the assistance of one of those cute little pushy-around-on-the-icey things. She did, eventually, get brave enough to kick one foot when I had her in a full-on bear hug. 

Before we left, she actually said the words, "Me no go on the ice again, Mommy." That's like eight more words than she usually says in a day. 

Here's what's probably not going to happen: because of this experience, I'll admit defeat and just encourage Ayana to be a runner. Nope. We'll probably ice skate a whole lot more, if I'm being honest. Despite the fact that we clearly misjudged her interest and abilities, we had a ball. I've always been able to enjoy activities, even if I'm not good at them. Which is fortunate because I'm not exactly well-roundedly awesome. I hope Ayana gets that from me.

But because it's hard to teach her things like that when she's two, we went the practical route. We bought her ice cream and told her over and over how much fun we all had. And by the time we were headed back to Pitkin, we had her believing us.

That's the thing about kids--you can't make them good at stuff, but you can by them ice cream and lie to them.