At. The. Ballet.

When I was downloading the photos of the kids' ice skating adventures, I found several (hundred) that we've taken since December but haven't shared. To balance out all of the photos on our Shutterfly site of Liv on the ice, here she is at the parent-viewing day for ballet last December (Kate was home sick with a stomach flu).

Hitting the ice

The first Tuesday in January, when most kids were heading back to school, John and I were taking Kate and Liv to a place they had been just once before in their entire lives -- the ice skating rink.

The three kindergarten classes at their school would spend one hour a week for the next five weeks ice skating. Picture it -- 60 kids, 120 blades, and dozens of parents and teachers who knew what they are doing helping them along. Obviously this is something the school felt was a life skill -- they also go swimming five times -- because they are at school just four half days a week, so these lessons marked a pretty big commitment on everyone's part.

And it was truly a sight to see -- some of these kids CLEARLY had been skating since shortly after they could walk, while others (like our girls) were less sure of themselves. By the end of the sessions, most kids were handling themselves pretty well on the ice.

We realized that all three of our kids could use a little more practice in addition to these outings, though, so we enrolled them in some city lessons mid-January as well ($35 for eight weeks of skating! What a bargain!). Today was the last day, and to celebrate, we took a few hundred photos during their lessons and headed to Tim Horton's for doughnuts when they were done (how very Canadian, I know). 

I realized at the rink that I had a good story to tell with all three kids. And so if you'll indulge me... here goes.

JACK

Jack wasn't as much of a novice as his sisters. He had gone skating with his kindergarten class as well, and my dad (a fabulous hockey player) had taken him skating most winters that they came to visit. He wasn't like his classmates who play hockey every day after school and all day Saturday, but he could get around the rink pretty well on his own.

At that first class, they let all of the kids loose on the ice and asked them to skate to the far end and back. Those who clearly couldn't (Kate and Liv and about eight others) stayed in the beginner class, and the rest (including Jack that first day) went in the advanced class.

Jack was the worst skater in the advanced class. There's no other way to say it. Right after that sorting, they had the kids skate to the far end and back. He did, straggling in at the very end. Then the teacher said "OK, class, now everyone skate backwards to the far end!!" As the other children took off, Jack looked up at me and John with a face that clearly said "What the heck is she THINKING?!"... and then he gave it his best shot.

He was exhausted at the end of that class. The next Saturday, after a late night with friends over the night before, he woke up and in a very un-Jack-like way, said "I don't want to go skating, Mama." I looked at my tired boy and said "You know, if they have everyone race to the end and back again today, just don't skate as fast. Then you can be in the beginner class with your sisters."

"Really?" he asked. "I could do that?"

"Yup," I told him. "Just don't tell your dad I said so."

So we got the kids in the car, and on the way there, John was giving Jack a wonderful pep talk. He reminded him around how it's actually GREAT to be in a group of people who are more experienced than you are at something, because then you can improve so quickly. He mentioned Jack's natural athletic ability and said how much that would help him. And he reassured Jack that he'd be just fine.

"Don't worry, Dad," Jack said. "I am just going to do what Mama said and skate REALLY slowly, so then I'll be with the beginners and I'll be fine."

Uh-oh. John was not impressed (with me!).


But Jack did just what I said... and ended up having a great time. His good friend was in the beginner class, too, and (as he told us on the way home) he actually learned stuff like stopping and spinning. He's never going to be a professional hockey player, I told John. And he's having fun.

He did.

He got quite good at spinning, and at today's lesson, when the teacher said "OK, class, now everyone skate backwards!", the American-born boy transplanted to Canada did just that.

KATIE

Katie loved skating from the start. We took all three kids with my dad once before school started in January, and Katie wanted to go around again and again and again.

She loved it when she went with her kindergarten class. She loved the city lessons.

She's fast. And fierce. At the end of one lesson, she came storming down the ice toward us with a smile on her face. She was slightly off track, though, and took all of that speed straight into the boards --with her face (not her helmet, of course, nor her well-padded body). She rattled the boards so loudly that other parents in the stands looked and gasped. But Katie picked herself up, skated toward us, blinked back a few tears, and proudly showed off her black eye for a week.

Watching Katie skate is such a pleasure. You look at her smoothness and speed and skill and it's a thing of beauty. It's easy to picture her skating as a big girl and a teen and an adult and a senior... loving it every step of the way. 

It's pretty amazing to watch your child do something she's very good at, to see her improve each week, to witness the fun she has learning each new skill. And it's wonderful to see the pride she had in her own ability and success. During a break at today's class, she came up to me with sparkling eyes. "Mama," she said, "the teacher said that I could go in the fast group because I was very fast!"

That's our Katie. Fast. Fierce. And sparkling in her ice skates.

OLIVIA

Olivia hated skating from the start. Truly hated it. After the first lesson, she came home and said "Why didn't you enroll me in ninja school instead of those stupid skating lessons?"

You have to learn to skate, Liv, we told her. It's a part of life here in Canada. You don't have to be good at it. You don't have to take any more lessons once you have learned the basics. But you can't quit. And you have to go. We'll talk about ninja school next year.

She hated it when she went with her class. And when the city lessons started, she hated those even more, because at least with her school class she could hold on to the cones and other props they have so she wouldn't fall down. The city lessons were hard core, though. Nothing to hold onto. Just you and the ice.

Well, Liv spent most of the first of the city lessons sitting on the ice. Just sitting. And crying. At the second lesson, John would try to walk her out to the beginner group, and there were times she would try to do what the class was doing, and other times she would just CRAWL back to us at the edge. It was horrible (for everyone, I'm sure). At the third lesson, I left to get groceries because I couldn't stand watching her be so miserable. John stayed to cheer her on, and when I came back, something had changed. She still hated it (clearly), but now she was trying.

She tried again the next class.This time, her moments on the ice came from falls she made while skating. And she kept on trying. Over the next few classes, she got VERY good at spinning -- and you could tell she had fun doing that. There were a few times she was amazingly fast, too... twice when she needed to go to the bathroom, and other times playing games or having races. And no matter what, at each class, she tried her best.

But she fell so very, very often (more than 30 times in today's class, John and I were guessing). And each time, she got herself back up. There was not much sparkle in her eyes. But there were no tears there, either.

John and I gave her thumbs ups and little cheers throughout this last class, encouraging her on, cringing with each crash. And then during the last minute, she had one very big fall at the far end of the rink. She looked beat. The teacher skated with her toward us. Tears filled Liv's eyes (and mine, too, maybe).  As we swooped her up with a hug, we both told her we were so very, very proud of her.

We are.

She will CERTAINLY never be a professional hockey player. She may very well decline all invitations to birthday parties at ice skating rinks. But she tried. She learned. She finished what she started. And she showed a different kind of strength than Jack and Katie did during these last months -- maybe something even more impressive in the long run.

But she'll never be a skater. And I think we'll need to track down a ninja school next year.

***

I posted a BUNCH of skating photos on our Shutterfly site as well. Just go to jackkateliv.shutterfly.com. The password is my middle name... email me if you need that. And three cheers to all three kids for their hard work these last weeks. We are proud of each of them for many different reasons... and I think we all will be glad for a bit of a break from skating!

"I hope your country feels better soon..."

This morning, after we finally had word that our best friends in Japan were as okay as anyone in Japan can be right now, I asked the kids to make some cards to send to their friends, Taiki and Keita, and Ayumu and Fuuka.  I think *I* wanted to do something to help the people of Japan, and not knowing what else to do at this point, I thought at least our friends might enjoy getting mail (when the mail systems are back in place, I suppose).

So the kids got to work, and Katie drew a picture of a Pokemon character for Ayumu, who just turned six and lived around the corner from us in Sapporo. Then she dictated to me what she wanted to say:

"Dear Ayumu, I hope your country feels better soon. Love, Katie"

Oh Katie, I thought. I hope so too.

I heard about the quake late Thursday night, when my cousin Mary, whose husband is in the Air Force and who lives south of Tokyo with their four awesome kids, wrote about the quake on Facebook. That's Japan for you, I thought. And I was sure they'd all be OK.

The next morning, we woke up to pictures of skyscrapers swaying like flowers in a field. And I still wasn't worried... if anything, I was in awe of Japan's strict building regulations and feeling grateful that there wasn't more damage... those skyscrapers stood, after all. How bad could it be? I wrote our Sapporo friends anyway, just to see if they felt the quake, but still... I wasn't worried.

Then we heard about the tsunami... and how far-reaching the quake was... and how much destruction the water brought with it. And then I started to worry. Sendai, where so much of the damage seemed to be, is in northeast Japan. Sapporo, where we lived in 2008, is in northwest Japan. Could the damage have extended to Sapporo? Were any of our friends traveling on the mainland? How did our lovely city fair? And more importantly, were our friends OK?

We heard from Hiromi first. She is the friend who lived around the corner from us, who took me to the grocery store and showed me the "good" spinach and debated at length with the rice salesman about which kind of rice would be best for our family, who answered questions about everything from school supplies to head wounds to how Katie and Livie could respond to classmates who took their toys without resorting to spitting. While we were there, she gave birth to her sweet little girl, Fuuka, and so we got to learn about all the wonderful traditions and rituals that surround the welcoming of a new baby.

She sent one short email on Friday saying simply "We are OK!". Later, she wrote:  "In Sapporo, there was fortunately no damage. However, damage is cruel in other places."

I was still waiting to hear from Tomoko, though, the friend I met at the kids' school. She kept me posted on all important school events, came over for a breakfast of French toast and maple syrup, had us for an incredible dinner at her house, and, like Hiromi, made our time in Japan so much more memorable and meaningful. When she didn't reply the second day, I started to worry. Her husband used to work in Sendai -- had he gone back to work there? Worry, worry, worry. And then yesterday afternoon, I had a wonderful email from her. She, too, wrote that they were okay and that Sapporo was on solid ground... but that north Japan, on the Pacific side, was a tragedy.

Her husband was trying to get in touch with friends in Sendai but had not been able to make contact. People are worrying about the nuclear power plants. And although much help is needed in northeast Japan (everything from diapers to water to blankets and food, she said), the systems for distributing aid aren't set up fully yet. 

We feel so helpless. And so worried.

Having lived in Japan definitely makes this natural (and, given the state of the nuclear power plants, possible man-made) disaster more real for all of us. And more worrisome. The faces of the victims could be friends of our friends, their cousins or college roommates or former coworkers. Their losses are now our losses too. I suppose some would say that this is a kind of benefit of the travel we have done... the ability to see that the joys and sorrows of people around the world are our joys and sorrows, too.


It is definitely more meaningful to our kids. We talked about the earthquake in Haiti last year, and the one recently in New Zealand. But I don't think they understood the real idea of the losses people are facing until we talked about how much we were hoping to have an email from Hiromi and Tomoko, about how real kids, their friends and second cousins, felt the ground shake. I suppose that is a good lesson, too, in its own way.


But the feeling of helplessness persists. Although Katie has the right idea, it doesn't seem like enough to say "I hope your country feels better soon" (although those thoughts certainly don't hurt). I have asked Hiromi and Tomoko to let me know if they hear of organizations that need help -- if there is anything to be done from here to help our friends over there.


In the meantime, we've spent a lot of hours these last days thinking about, talking about, and remembering our wonderful Sapporo experience. What a wonderful country. What wonderful people. And what heartbreaking disaster they (and we... because it is a small world) are facing now.