...with a slight case of exhaustion. Happy New Year everyone! I hope you had a restful and joyous holiday with friends and family. In our clan this year it was a holiday of driving. Driving to see my family in Windsor, driving back to Toronto before driving to Ottawa for a hockey tournament and driving back to Toronto to drive my daughter to London to university. I have to say welcoming in 2011 was a low key affair for us because The Boy had a 7 a.m. hockey game (they got to the Finals) on New Year's Day. Yup. That meant up at 4:30 to check out of the hotel and get to the arena by 6. Unfortunately, the boys lost but came in second overall in 20 teams. And they got to play on NHL ice (Ottawa Senators arena) and see themselves on the jumbo-tron. Very cool.
I hope the rest of 2011 isn't so frantic, to tell you the truth. I am so happy I have today as a holiday because I seriously need to recover. Who knew I'd ever look forward to a day of laundry and vacuuming?? But I am in one place and not the van. I am heartily sick of that van and hockey arenas, let me tell you. And as for writing? I am feeling distinctly guilty for not doing one word on the wip. I'm not one for New Year's resolutions but I am determined to finish that wip. It's a good story. I can feel it. I think I'm just scared of messing it up - funny because one of the themes in the story is our fears and having to face them. Beyond that one goal, the only other thing I want to accomplish in 2011 is trying to get a little less stress in my life. Not sure how I'll accomplish that with a house renovation the big ticket item this year. However, that's what the start of a New Year is for, right? The fresh, idealism of hope!
Do you make any New Year's resolutions? Or are they more like guidelines, really?
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hockey. Show all posts
Monday, January 3, 2011
Monday, November 22, 2010
The Lost Weekend
It's been awhile since I've had one of those weekends. You know the ones - where you open your eyes Monday morning more tired and exhausted than when you fell into bed the night before? Where the past two days seem a blur and you can't quite figure out what you did, where you went or what, if anything, you accomplished? No, I did not have a bender. Please, who had time to even down a glass of wine? What I'm talking about is two days where your entire existence is for, about and in service to your children.
My kids are not infants or toddlers. They are, supposedly, getting more independent as the days and years go on. But honestly, with the demands put upon me these past two days with The Boy's hockey and a dreaded school project, we had more angst and drama than when one of my babies was up all night with colic. Please, I'd trade a colicky baby with having to motivate an eleven year old boy to get a school project done and getting studying accomplished for yet another math quiz on Monday any time. Throw into the mix that on the heels of having an awesome hockey game on Friday, the poor kid then has an unfortunate hit against another player on Sunday and gets his first ever game misconduct (thrown out of the game and suspended for one more) we had an extremely emotional end to an already conflict-filled weekend. This latter event caused some major upset for the poor kid. He always plays by the rules (both in hockey and in life) and when something like this happened he felt so horrible about it that both husband and I were thrown into instant counselling mode (as were several of his coaches from the team - we have a very supportive team and we know we're lucky).
So, by 11 pm Sunday night (a full two hours after The Boy is usually in bed) he's finally calmed down enough about what happened, he's finished his project and has done a bit of studying for his test. But not only is the poor kid wiped out today so are his parents. Needless to say, no writing has been done on my part (even missed one of my bi-weekly blog posts). Sometimes life just throws a few curve balls at you to remind you to put writing into perspective. Family first always - even if it wipes you out. You can recharge later. The words will always be there waiting for you even if you ignore them. Your kids may not be.
My kids are not infants or toddlers. They are, supposedly, getting more independent as the days and years go on. But honestly, with the demands put upon me these past two days with The Boy's hockey and a dreaded school project, we had more angst and drama than when one of my babies was up all night with colic. Please, I'd trade a colicky baby with having to motivate an eleven year old boy to get a school project done and getting studying accomplished for yet another math quiz on Monday any time. Throw into the mix that on the heels of having an awesome hockey game on Friday, the poor kid then has an unfortunate hit against another player on Sunday and gets his first ever game misconduct (thrown out of the game and suspended for one more) we had an extremely emotional end to an already conflict-filled weekend. This latter event caused some major upset for the poor kid. He always plays by the rules (both in hockey and in life) and when something like this happened he felt so horrible about it that both husband and I were thrown into instant counselling mode (as were several of his coaches from the team - we have a very supportive team and we know we're lucky).
So, by 11 pm Sunday night (a full two hours after The Boy is usually in bed) he's finally calmed down enough about what happened, he's finished his project and has done a bit of studying for his test. But not only is the poor kid wiped out today so are his parents. Needless to say, no writing has been done on my part (even missed one of my bi-weekly blog posts). Sometimes life just throws a few curve balls at you to remind you to put writing into perspective. Family first always - even if it wipes you out. You can recharge later. The words will always be there waiting for you even if you ignore them. Your kids may not be.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Road Trip
Just a short post today because I'm about to head off this afternoon on a bus trip with 16 ten year old boys to a hockey tournament in Sudbury for four days. Yes. You heard that correctly. Hockey trip. Sudbury. In DECEMBER. Me. What's wrong (besides everything) with this description?
I checked the weather and, of course there's snow squalls over much of central Ontario with all the wind and snow we've been having the last couple of days. And Sudbury's going to have the balmy temperature of - wait for it - minus 11 degrees Celcius.
Lovely.
So I'll be away from the blog, twitter, email, the blueboards, my comfy bed. Ack. Think of me when I'll be sitting at a freezing hockey arena at 7 am tomorrow morning cheering my baby boy on. The only positive? I hope to pile on some words in the WIP on that 4 1/2 hour bus ride. If there isn't a game of mini-sticks going on in the aisle, that is.
I checked the weather and, of course there's snow squalls over much of central Ontario with all the wind and snow we've been having the last couple of days. And Sudbury's going to have the balmy temperature of - wait for it - minus 11 degrees Celcius.
Lovely.
So I'll be away from the blog, twitter, email, the blueboards, my comfy bed. Ack. Think of me when I'll be sitting at a freezing hockey arena at 7 am tomorrow morning cheering my baby boy on. The only positive? I hope to pile on some words in the WIP on that 4 1/2 hour bus ride. If there isn't a game of mini-sticks going on in the aisle, that is.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Burnt Out and It's Not Even October Yet!
I knew September would be busy. I knew Mercury would be in retrograde making all travel screwed up and all work re-done. I knew that the few, blissful days of being bored in August would seem like a hazy, vaguely remembered dream told to me by someone else. So why am I so surprised that I'm feeling like a wet dishcloth that's slowly sliding down a kitchen wall? But I know if I'm feeling wrung out my poor son must feel like he's hanging on a clothesline trying to dry out.
In the last seven days he's played 6 hockey games and two Baseball games. He's had a couple of hockey and baseball practices thrown in there for good measure too. Not to mention the return of the dreaded homework monster to which his battle plan is a combination of avoid, ignore and forget it at school. I feel like I've barely been home myself so have been seriously neglecting Daughters One and Two. I think they know enough to avoid stressed out mom and I'm hoping that whatever they're up to is all legal and won't require my attendance at any hearings or anything.
Tonight is the first game of the Baseball playoffs. Is it awful if I'm not too upset if his team loses? Tomorrow night is another hockey practice. Thursday night is Open House/Meet the Teacher night at the school. Friday night is another Hockey game. Saturday morning hockey practice. Followed by a jam packed weekend with a birthday party for a friend, Word on the Street on Sunday (yay!), hair appointment (roots are now almost two inches long and even The Boy has asked me when I'm getting my hair done)and the Ontario University Fair which I wanted to attend with Daughter One is happening at the Metro Convention Centre this weekend. Not to mention the book signing by Megan Crewe I wanted to attend for her Book Giving Up the Ghost. Sigh. I may just have to get a signed copy another time.
And I know there was one more thing I'm forgetting. What was it? What was it? Oh! Of course. Working on the Revision. Right. <>
Maybe when I've finished sliding down the wall.
In the last seven days he's played 6 hockey games and two Baseball games. He's had a couple of hockey and baseball practices thrown in there for good measure too. Not to mention the return of the dreaded homework monster to which his battle plan is a combination of avoid, ignore and forget it at school. I feel like I've barely been home myself so have been seriously neglecting Daughters One and Two. I think they know enough to avoid stressed out mom and I'm hoping that whatever they're up to is all legal and won't require my attendance at any hearings or anything.
Tonight is the first game of the Baseball playoffs. Is it awful if I'm not too upset if his team loses? Tomorrow night is another hockey practice. Thursday night is Open House/Meet the Teacher night at the school. Friday night is another Hockey game. Saturday morning hockey practice. Followed by a jam packed weekend with a birthday party for a friend, Word on the Street on Sunday (yay!), hair appointment (roots are now almost two inches long and even The Boy has asked me when I'm getting my hair done)and the Ontario University Fair which I wanted to attend with Daughter One is happening at the Metro Convention Centre this weekend. Not to mention the book signing by Megan Crewe I wanted to attend for her Book Giving Up the Ghost. Sigh. I may just have to get a signed copy another time.
And I know there was one more thing I'm forgetting. What was it? What was it? Oh! Of course. Working on the Revision. Right. <
Maybe when I've finished sliding down the wall.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Return of Super Hockey Mom/Van Driver
My respite in the sun is over.
I have been called to service again. No longer can I hide from the cold, harsh world ruled by ice and infused with the pungent odor of damp, moldy socks and acrid zamboni fumes. I must prepare myself for battle. I must return to my duty.
My goal? Delivering my charge - the potential hero of the game. He must be prepared. He must be PACKED. He cannot forget his neck guard, shoulder pads, gloves, underarmour, jock strap, knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, jersey. Most of all, he cannot forget his SKATES. This is his armour. His stick his weapon. His mother is his pack mule.
Once again, I must forge through congested rush-hour streets to get to the arena on time. My steady steed - our Chrysler minivan. Only three years old and already nearing 100,000 kms. We have been to many arenas in our travels.
I must, once again, curb my desire to curse at those unsuspecting drivers that are in my way. My charge cannot be subjected to his pack mule's increasing frustration and stress. My charge must not arrive for his battle in a bad mood. His pack mule must remain calm.
If we are lucky, if we arrive on time, with all equipment ready, if my charge has had enough time to eat, if his pack mule has not flipped off more than one driver or run through too many yellow lights, if the minivan steed has not run out of gas, all will be well. My charge will be dressed and on time, waiting to face the enemy. Waiting to enter the cold, hard surface of the arena and conquer all foes.
But wait? What is this I hear? My now fully-armoured charge is whispering in my ear, his small, determined face barely visible through the helmet cage protecting him from the danger of flying pucks and attacking sticks.
Have we forgotten an important piece of equipment in his arsenal? Does he need advice or encouragement from his pack mule?
Nay. It is something much, much worse. He leans in closer to me.
"Mom. I need to go pee."
The pack mule collapses at his feet.
I have been called to service again. No longer can I hide from the cold, harsh world ruled by ice and infused with the pungent odor of damp, moldy socks and acrid zamboni fumes. I must prepare myself for battle. I must return to my duty.
My goal? Delivering my charge - the potential hero of the game. He must be prepared. He must be PACKED. He cannot forget his neck guard, shoulder pads, gloves, underarmour, jock strap, knee pads, elbow pads, helmet, jersey. Most of all, he cannot forget his SKATES. This is his armour. His stick his weapon. His mother is his pack mule.
Once again, I must forge through congested rush-hour streets to get to the arena on time. My steady steed - our Chrysler minivan. Only three years old and already nearing 100,000 kms. We have been to many arenas in our travels.
I must, once again, curb my desire to curse at those unsuspecting drivers that are in my way. My charge cannot be subjected to his pack mule's increasing frustration and stress. My charge must not arrive for his battle in a bad mood. His pack mule must remain calm.
If we are lucky, if we arrive on time, with all equipment ready, if my charge has had enough time to eat, if his pack mule has not flipped off more than one driver or run through too many yellow lights, if the minivan steed has not run out of gas, all will be well. My charge will be dressed and on time, waiting to face the enemy. Waiting to enter the cold, hard surface of the arena and conquer all foes.
But wait? What is this I hear? My now fully-armoured charge is whispering in my ear, his small, determined face barely visible through the helmet cage protecting him from the danger of flying pucks and attacking sticks.
Have we forgotten an important piece of equipment in his arsenal? Does he need advice or encouragement from his pack mule?
Nay. It is something much, much worse. He leans in closer to me.
"Mom. I need to go pee."
The pack mule collapses at his feet.
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