I remember it so clearly, watching the beautiful women fly on the ice. They made it look so easy, so magical. The sequins, the makeup, the hair, the music. I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to fly. I wanted to leap into the air and come down spinning. I wanted to feel the cold wind in my face as I floated in that magical place. I would spin around and around in my socks on the kitchen linoleum. In my nightgown, I was transformed to a beautiful ice skater.
I never knew their names, I never followed them more than that moment on TV. I would jump and spin, make routines in my head and follow my heart as I flew through the house.
In the blink of an eye, I am the Mother watching my daughters. They ooh and aah at the costumes. They put on socks and spin on the kitchen floor and skate all over the carpet. They imagine their own costumes and choreograph their own routines. I watch them soar and dream, and I remember.
Today I turn 37, but I swear just yesterday I was six and dreaming.