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On Friday night, I learned my limitation. I took ten pre-teengirls to the ice rink--along with little brother Victor, who hadnever ice-skated in his life.

At fortysomething, I had no deep-seated desire to skate; thegirls afterall would skate by themselves and completely ignoreme. I was cold. I was sore from my early-morning tennis game andhalf-hour workout with weights. In tiny Ridgefield, Connecticutin January, ice skating on a Friday night is as good as it gets:the place was packed. Clearly two hundred children and hormone-impaired middleschoolers were lacing up, while little Victorbegged me to skate alongside him, at this never-before-seen rink, with an almost-desperate look on his face.

Of course I had to oblige. "How tough could this be anyway?" Ithought as I snapped on my rented skates. "I work out everyday,"I reassured myself. I skated as a kid. We'll take it slowly. Ilook the part, what with my jeans, turtleneck, and down vest. Imean...I could pass for one of these kids if you caught me at the right angle!

We got onto the ice, Victor holding my hand with a look of "Can I do this, Mom?" and me with an "it's-like-riding-a-bike-you-never-forget-how" assurance.

The first time around was, well, awkward would be anunderstatement. I was wobbly. Victor held me up. When I asked him how he was doing, he was clearly in control. "I rollerblade,remember, Mom?" Oh yeah...that.

Dozens of wiry boys...barely as high as my kneecap...who hadclearly been skating since they could crawl...zigzagged in andout of my path like cockroaches when caught in the dark by a quickly-turned-on light. Whippersnappers! In and out they skated, so fast and with such precision that it took my misted-breath away.

Did I mention the strobe lights? Just when I thought it was safeto look down and see where I was going, the lights playing on the ice only made me dizzy. I was reassured by my assessment when Victor exclaimed: "Mom, don't look down! You'll throw up!"

By the third or fourth time around, I was feeling much moreconfident. But when a pre-teen girl caught sight of a hottie andabruptly skated backwards...directly in front of me...I wasknocked smack on the ice. I landed on my wrists, and fullyrealized how hard the ice really is...and how much more brittlemy bones are at my age...when I picked myself up with a half-laugh and an under-my-breath grunt of "I hope he was worth it."

We were great, Victor and I. He took to the ice like a duck towater and passed me whenever he could, checking in with me everyfew dozen yards to make sure I was still alive. The second crashwas my swan song; I exited to the slightly warmer viewing roomwith ice on my butt and two clearly bruised wrists, totallyticked off that these kids had gotten the best of me.

Five minutes later, I reminded myself why I was there in thefirst place: I had a 9-year-old son who needed me, for crying out loud! It was back to the ice for another half-hour. Round and round we went, avoiding the whippersnappers and pre-teen girls with a vengeance. My daughter and her nine friends? Forgetaboutem. Caught in their own little world-on-ice, checkingout each face that whirled past them, I was only the night-timedriver and MasterCard-holder.

The evening ended with hot cocoa drunk by giggling, rosy-cheekedgirls. Victor, encouraged by my proddings of "You're doing sogreat!" now had his sights set on ice hockey. And my left wrist,though clearly black and blue from a dozen broken blood vessels,was not much worse for the wear.

Will we do that again? Absolutely. Cold air, oxygen to the brain, rosy cheeks, laughter, friends, bonding with my kids, and a sense of community in this New England town of mine are just too compelling.

Looking like a fool when I fall? Black-and-blue reminders of mymiddle age? Bruises to my ego? Well...that's all part ofmotherhood.

Keeping the spirit of the holidays after the holidays haveclearly passed is one of the challenges of being a Rocket Mom.Keep your eyes wide open for opportunities throughout the nextcouple winter months to create special memories with your kids.Be it snow-skiing, ice skating, or sledding; or creating uniquepottery at your local paint bar...be prepared for giggles and memory-making...and check your ego at the door.