Ice Skating, or better known as Ice Crying.

Way back in January (yes, I'm still trying to catch up), our old neighbors (and friends) called to see if we wanted to join them at the ice rink. Sure, I thought, that would be great fun. Aubrey had been dying to go, and based on how well she did with skiing, I thought she'd have a great time. Henry, on the other hand, I knew would not love it. But, with Brian out of town and cabin fever setting in, I decided we would give it a try.

Henry actually seemed pretty excited when we got there, and walked OK in the skates up the the ice. One step onto the ice, and he was done. I skated while holding him until the ice police told me they would not allow me to endanger my child that way. Luckily, our friends took turns watching Henry and then skating with Aubrey.

Aubrey ended up doing great. She started off holding on to the side, but after one or two laps, she was out on the ice scooting along. Then there was crying. Lots of crying. The crying did not result from her falling or not catching on, but from her FREEZING hands and toes. I'm pretty sure I heard "Mommy, I TOLD you to bring my big gloves" more than once. I under-estimated the power of the ice. The kids had sweatshirts, mittens, and hats, but I was clearly the worst mother of the year for not bundling them up in full snow gear. Lesson learned.

All smiles with the Stoneciphers

no hands mom!

and... we're done.