Peering through a plexiglass wall, I held my two-year-old steady as he stood on a narrow ledge.

Ten minutes earlier, we had been on the other side of that plexiglass wall, on the ice of our town’s outdoors skating rink. Unsteady on my own skates, I held his left hand while his right hand gripped the wall. His feet flailed beneath him, slipping backwards, then forwards.

After a few minutes of inching along, a man came up behind us with his own young daughter holding the wall. They were moving slightly faster than us. Trying to let him by, I lifted my son onto the wall. As they moved around us oh so slowly, a rink employee approached. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, as I winced at being called ma’am. “He can’t be on the wall.” I took him down, as I stammered, “Uh, we were just trying to let them by.” As I held my son in my arms, he continued, “You can’t do that either. People have fallen and crushed their kids.” Okay then. It was time to quit. As I put him back on the ice, my son started to cry. Definitely time to quit. We shuffled our way back the few feet to the entrance with much complaining from him and reassurance from me.

So much for that plan.

As we took off our skates and watched from the side, my husband and older son continued their slow path around the rink. Each time, my son got a little steadier and faster. I contented myself with the knowledge that I would switch off with my husband after a few rounds.

We did switch off and I skated back on. As we glided and skidded side-by-side, I smiled.

But after only a couple of spins around the ice, my feet started going numb. I stepped back off the ice and switched with my husband once again.

While my husband was watching him, my two-year-old kept trying to sprint towards the library doors. So after I returned my skates, we left the rink and entered its doors. I followed him as he wandered up the stairs, wandered down the stairs, stared at another kid playing a computer game, and mashed on a keyboard to a computer with the screen turned off. We eventually read a book squished into a child-sized blue love seat.

In the past, I would have resented being stuck with my younger son, consigned to the library instead of participating in this special activity.

But much to my surprise, I wasn’t. In fact, it was refreshing.

Normally, quitting something and appreciating the alternative is so hard for me. This time it was clear – my son was having an awful time skating. In contrast, he was perfectly content watching the skaters and zamboni go by.

Despite his attitude, I still clung to the idea that I had to be in the midst of the “special time” for it to be worth it.

But as I watched with him, my attitude shifted. My five year old was having such a good time one-on-one with my husband, time that has been in short supply since school started. Nuzzling my younger son’s hair, I could feel his body move against mine as he breathed. Together, we found ourselves present, enjoying where we where at that exact time. Even at the library, I took joy in just following him around.

Where we are at any one time is simply that – no more, no less. I was on the ice and off the ice – one no better than the other. Being happy with where we are doesn’t mean that we can’t move forward or want to change our circumstance. But appreciating where we are can bring such relief compared to constantly wishing we were elsewhere. Being present in the world and with our kids is the first step towards loving them and everything around them.

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