"Mama, I'm going ice skating," my nine-year-old son announced.
I looked outside. The snow had melted. I couldn't imagine what he was talking about. Besides, the kid didn't even own a pair of ice skates. "Dude, what are you talking about?"
He put on his coat and went out onto the back deck. "Right here, Mama. This is an ice rink."
It was indeed an ice rink. Since the deck stays in the shade most of the day, the snow and ice was completely hardened, and as smooth and slick as a rink. Bubba wobbled across the deck, wearing his tennis shoes. He attempted a fancy spin, and promptly landed on his bottom.
"Careful," I said.
He grinned. "This is better than watching the Olympics!" He did another fancy slide across the ice. "What would you give me for that one?"
"A perfect ten!"