Lydia’s school is kitty-corner from our house. It’s a fairly large school, with several buildings accomodating students from kindergarten through grade 9, and though it’s technically just across the street it takes her a couple of minutes to get there. Most mornings I watch out the kitchen window as she makes her way over there, keeping an eye on her until she disappears from my sight behind one of the buildings. There’s a lot of activity around the school at peak times, and it would be easy to lose her in the sea of other kids if it weren’t for the long, canary-yellow coat she bought with her allowance last winter and wears proudly everywhere she goes.

This morning she climbed out of bed even more reluctantly than usual, due in equal parts to her having stayed up too late last night and her distaste for ice skating, which was scheduled for this afternoon. Though she’s capable, she’s not a particularly good skater and, worse, on skating days she has to carry both her skates and her helmet, which are heavy and unwieldy. Given her druthers, I’m sure she’d skip the whole thing altogether.

As if she didn’t have enough to grouse about, she discovered at the breakfast table that we had neither salami nor toast bread. I offered to make her a bowl of oatmeal, but she turned her nose up at that and at everything else I suggested. She finally accepted a bowl of applesauce, complaining bitterly while eating it that it didn’t “go with hot chocolate.” I agreed, but was frankly more concerned about applesauce being less than filling, and in the end I convinced her to eat a leftover dinner roll as well.

After she had eaten and dressed and gathered up her backpack and skating gear, she set off with shoulders hunched and a world-weary look about her. I watched her trudge through the snow with a weary feeling of my own, already anticipating the dispirited report I’d get when she returned home.

When she reached the other side of the street, I saw her break into a little jog and catch up with another girl, who was pushing a kick-sled. Through the morning half-light and layers of winter clothes I couldn’t make out who the other girl was, but I could see her and Lydia start chattering animatedly as Lydia casually looped the handles of the plastic bag holding her skates over the handle of the kick-sled, lightening her load both figuratively and literally. The two of them continued on in easy companionship, and when I lost sight of Lydia earlier than I normally do–she was wearing her non-descript “skating coat” today–it didn’t bother me the way it sometimes does. Instead, I had the feeling that she was doing just fine on her own.