My son was invited to a friend's birthday party at the local ice skating rink. I was grateful for the opportunity to spend a little one-on-one time with him, and left my husband and the girls at home with a giant sigh of relief.

I've mentioned my son's demonstrative nature, and his daredevil tendancies. Ice skating was a disaster the first time we tried it, about a year ago. He expected to be a 'natural' and was astounded that he struggled to keep his skates underneath him. He watched other children wizzing around the ice, and he gave a primal scream of frustration, sitting on the ice for the first of many times that outing.

It took all of my self-control not to join him on the ice, screaming and gnashing my teeth. He was like an octopus, skin rippling in anger, forming spikes and turning scarlet. A trip to the in-rink cafe for a hot chocolate turned my son back to his familiar pink color, but he sulked and refused to return to the ice. The memory of that day left me wary of a repeat incident.

Nonetheless, the boy was excited to go. We arrived at the rink with a crush of people, all eager to get their hands on a pair of battered rental skates. My son jittered with impatience, but we were able to keep the head-spinning to a minimum. "I can't wait to get out on the ice!" he shouted, over and over.

"Remember, it takes practice...even really good skaters fall down." He nodded. With a final yank of my jeans cuff, I lurched to my feet and held his hand as we wobbled toward the ice. We made baby Frankenstein steps around the ice once. Then we glided together, hands still welded in an iron grasp.

As we reached the entrance again, his fingers released my hand, and he just started truckin' around the rink. He moved in a determined manner, chug chug chug chug. A group of larger kids flew by, and he landed on his butt with a thump. I reached his side quickly, and as I reached down to pull him to his feet, I felt his laughter radiate up my arm in a shock wave. His octopus exterior was rosy and content. He was delighted with himself.

"You're a great skater!" I told him, my ear-to-ear grin a copy of his own.

"I know. I'm a natural," he said, with just a hint of sarcasm.

After we finished the lap, he announced that he would like a little snack. We got a pretzel and soda from the snack bar, and he sat across from me, cheeks bunched up with the smile he was too cool to show. We returned to the ice in time for the hokey pokey and the snow-making machine - he held my hand "to help me" several times, but was happy to chug chug chug around the ice.

There were several more falls, of course, each greeted with good humor. As we finished up the skating, he asked for another trip to the rink. I have to admit, we had a blast skating to the medley of Grease songs...

We returned home feeling very self-congratulatory. My husband had taken the girls to Target, where they had purchased some glowing light-sticks on clearance.

After dinner, the kids turned off all the lights, and treated us to a light-show. There was marching. There was twirling. There were vaguely robotic moves galore. It was fan-freakin-tastic.

Between the ice capades and the light-show, I'd say the only thing we were missing was a couple of Sousa marches.