Technically, the nagging started months ago. Once the Olympics began, however, Alexis revved up the Nag-a-sawki and rode that sucker all. day. long. "I wanna go ice skating." "Can we go ice skating?" "I want to ice skate." "Can we pleeeeeeeeeease go ice skating?" OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER.
The kid is a persistent little bugger. VERY PERSISTENT.
I finally caved earlier in the week, "Fine. I'll take you ice skating this weekend, but you have to be good all week." She agreed to my terms and then actually made good on her end of the deal.
And then I didn't.
Initially I had told her we would go Saturday, but when Saturday rolled around, it turned out we had a few million things we needed to do. A trip to go ice skating for a few hours in the middle of the day just wasn't in the cards. Fully expecting her to have a Category 6 Meltdown that would cause the entire city to collapse, I prepared to offer up My Little Ponies and Dora Dolls and Zac Efron's first-born son as a consolation prize when I broke the news to her.
There were some tears, but in a sign of what was either maturity or she's way too used to getting disappointed, she decided to be OK with waiting another day. I'm hoping it was maturity. Or something.
This morning, Alexis woke bright and early, literally vibrating with excitement. "Momma! It's ice skating day!" she loudly whispered to me at 6:00 am. I love 6:00 am about as much as I love war, kicking puppies, and root canals. I told her to go back to sleep or else.
She didn't. I have a bald spot to prove it because she spent two solid hours twirling my hair. Every time I would try to fuss at her, she would feign sleep. Evil little creature . . .
Anyway, a few hours later we finally headed out for the ice rink, Alexis still vibrating with excitement and me silently hoping that the adventure would live up to her expectations. I had a hunch that she expected ice skating to be as easy as it looks on TV. I knew she was about to get a dose of reality.
The whole trip there (and it was quite a hike), she kept back-seat-driving. "Is this the right way to ice skating?" "Are we there yet?" "I don't wan't to stop at Starbucks. It's time to ice skate." "Drive faster." "Are you sure ice skating is this way?" "Drive FASTER!" Evil. little. creature.
We finally made our way to the rink, rented our skates, and set out for the ice. It took about two seconds for Alexis to figure out that she couldn't download instructions to her brain like in the movie Matrix, and she was PISSED. I wondered to myself if we would even manage to make one full lap before she gave up.
We did.
And then another. And then another. And then another.
The amazing part about that is if ever there was a human born to criticize herself entirely too much, it's Alexis. I don't know what goes on in that little head of hers, but she is really hard on herself. If she can't do something perfectly on the first try, she is very likely to throw a tantrum and give up. The biggest fit she has ever thrown was when she accidentally colored an apple brown on a worksheet. I mean, really. The kid beats the crap out of herself so often that she'll never need somebody else to knock her off any sort of pedestal. It's something we try to work on daily with her, but the perfectionist in her runs all the way to her bones.
Around and around we went, her oscillating between disappointment that she couldn't skate fast and joy that she was actually on the ice. One minute it was a pained, "I'm not a good skater," and the next it was, "Momma, let go of my hand. I can do it myself."
By the time the two hours of open skating was up, she could. She who gives up entirely too easily was skating
--all--
--by--
--herself--
before we left.
I might be just a tiny bit proud of her.
