Spitfire and Skating

I take Spitfire to ice skating lessons after work even though we are all famished. It is only 5 o'clock, but we are behaving as though we have hiked the Grand Canyon today. I stand possessively cradling a bag of potato chips near the kitchen sink, gobbling like a refugee and glancing at the clock. Spitfire retreats to a corner of the living room to hover quietly over her snack and protect it from a prowling Destructo. With only twenty minutes left before lessons, we leave. Dart Guy warns Spitfire not to get any body parts too close to my mouth in the car, and I narrow my eyes at him as we go. On the way there, Spitfire speaks with authority about everything, and I try to stay engaged, as I have read about how this is a crucial time in her life--5 years old in two weeks!--for building her self esteem. I want to give her my undivided attention so she will feel worthy and confident when she grows up, and live an absolutely outstanding and fulfilling life.
We arrive at the Galleria and Spitfire immediately seeks out her skating friend, who stands precariously balanced on thin, metal blades, smiling quietly. I am forgotten except for when Spitfire realizes that I did not fish her gloves from my bag. She yells loudly across the ice, waving her hands and letting all spectators know that I have overlooked her gloves. I remember now, as I duck down and fumble for her gloves, that she is bold and fearless, and collects friends like I collect the pennies at the bottom of this disorderly purse. Maybe her self esteem is on the right track after all.