My Name Is Amy and I Am Old

As I sit writing this, I have a big, old fashioned red rubber hot water bottle strapped to my low back. Why? Because last Friday I thought I'd be a good mother and take my kids ice skating. Even though she seemed to hate it last year, Maggie begged to be taken along. I hemmed and hawed over whether I should take her. I knew if it was just the big kids, we could skate around and have fun, but with Maggie there, she would have to be my main focus. Her enthusiasm won me over, though, and I suited her up in some snow pants and we headed out.

At the beginning, before we got on the ice, she was still very optimistic. But when we got out there she kind of fell apart. Learning to skate on hockey skates is tough, and she fell about a dozen times in the first five minutes. At that point, all she wanted to do was hang on me, and have me literally carry her to and fro. I was letting her hold my hands to skate her over to the bench for a rest, and she got tripped up on her own feet. All of a sudden she yanked on my hands in a weird, turn-y way, and I felt a lightening bolt of pain shoot up my back. And so now I am that lady, who is always grabbing her lower back and moaning and looking for hot water bottles and heating pads and taking ibuprofen round the clock. 

On the plus side, since there was no way in HELL Maggie was holding my hands after that point, look what she figured out: 

Was it worth the pain I am still experiencing? Not really, but watching this helps at least a little!