Roman's Roller Skate Birthday

 

Roman just turned five, and my sister for some reason thought Skate Plaza was in order. I secretly though she was crazy . . . but pumped the kids for it and showed up with lowest of low expectations. I pictured a passel of crying grammar students. But as soon as we entered the roller rink of my youth I got giddy with excitement and cursed myself for wearing sandals; which meant I was sockless. We found the birthday balloons and then quickly hurried to get the boys skated up.

Once they were laced up I turned them loose--with apparently no instructions, so I had to wrangle Deacon from the floor next to the sidelines (the only place you wear street shoes), and get him going with the flow. Bryce fell down 47 times in the first five minutes. This was the not the most fun activity of Bryce's life. Usually he's so athletic, so given to catching on enough to have a blast--even if the rules or point of the game elude him. Skating was tumbling onto hard floors and having your mother fall to pieces laughing over it all.

Feeling less than a gold-star mom, I decided that socks or no socks I was going to skate too, to ensure my kids' fun day. I even tried to sneakily hand the shoe-barrista my sandals as I hid my un-socked feet (which were probably standing on carpet that rivaled the number of years I've had a drivers license).

I laced up feeling all confident, then stood up (still) feeling all confident, then moved and wondered how much it would hurt a grown woman to fall flat on her face going zero miles per second. How was I going to move? How was I going to help my kids, when I need them to serve as human walking canes?

Somehow I staggered onto the wood floors, and tried to call my kids to come in my direction--you know so I could commence with providing motherly assistance. At this point I completely lost any interest in my own (lack of) ability to skate, and was absorbed with pride and amusement with Deacon's new found talent. He scooted, he inched along, he smiled from ear to ear, and as far as he was concerned he was ice-skating! That's right, he proudly asked if I noticed him ice-skating on his roller skates.

Life got even better. He skated along with his cousin Roman and soon they were hand in hand. Overcome with cousinly love Roman bestowed his special glow-stick my little roller skater. Then Daniel skated with Deacon, Bryce did not skate with him. Bryce was ever my shadow, and only meandered away from me when the call of the limbo rang in his ears.

Do you even have any idea what the criteria are for one to be qualified to be the roller-rink emcee? I'll tell ya: overly long hair, sneakily tight pants, an eighties cop mustache, and some crazy skating moves. This thirty-something captivated the kids. All the kids. Even the preteen fatties wearing Daisy Dukes. Even the older-then-me adults out on a 4:30 date night. Everybody limbo'd. Amusing doesn't even begin to describe my feelings, as I witnessed a bulgy-bear soccer mom in the short-shorts and a one-sleeved long-sleeved sequined tiger print tee . . . limboing.

Bryce came into his own when Aunt Adie passed out the arcade tokens. Hand over fist he collected tickets like nobody else. Grandma Greta chaperoned the boys game after game, and the boys would run madly over to where I was camped (with Papa Glen at the party table). After cramming their tickets in my hands and receiving tons of lavish "go get 'em" praise from me, they shot back out to win win win. We ended up collecting enough between the two of them for two candy necklaces and five army men.

Grandma & Papa had brought a Star Wars cake--so many happy little boys. Roman opened his gifts and loved them all (he's fun to give to). Bryce and Deacon's private school is a remodeled roller rink. Now I'm hoping that the school will relocate so we can reclaim the rink. I'll pass on the Daisy Dukes (you're welcome) but get that one-armed/one-sleeved sequined tiger print tee ready--oh, and my own personalized skates.