My Kids Still Play Hockey

I really haven’t felt like a hockey mom this year.  Don’t worry, my children haven’t stopped playing hockey or any such atrocity, so no need to call child services or the Canadian Mounted Police or whomever is called in for such crimes.  Everyone here still plays hockey.  I promise.

I think it was that I just didn’t have a hockey mom sisterhood on any of the kids’ teams.  They were mostly new faces and it has taken me until a few weeks ago to make friends.  And by friends I mean determine people’s names and which child they belong to.  And if they are crazy.  Most of them are crazy.  I’m ok with that.  Usually I am a pro at the friends making thing.  I blame my  aggressively outgoing personality on my parents, naturally.   Not because of genetics but because they loved to up and move the family around at any old time and I changed schools a lot.  Were we in the military?  Umm, no.  More like gypsies…just kidding.  My parents were actually pioneers. They were the original house flippers, before it was trending.  I should write a blog about my parents and their chronic early adapting, we were also the first to have a Laser Disc player.  They were flipping houses before there were reality shows dedicated to the topic.

But I digress.  Years later, here I am with all new hockey moms to meet on three different teams and I have been a disaster.  I have a feeling I’ve given off the total wrong impression.  The first issue is I haven’t been on the email list for any of the teams.  Now all parents know that if you aren’t on the email list, you may as well be dead.  You are just as out of the loop.  Especially in Mites.  Mite parents love nothing more than to “reply all” the living hell out of an email chain.  Make inside jokes.  Invite the whole team to birthday parties.  Arrange coaches’ gifts.  My husband gets all the emails, but I am the Mite mom.  I am always with our Mite.  So I always have no effing clue what anyone at the rink is talking about!  Secondly I work a lot now.  So I tend to show up at the older kids’ rink still dressed in my work clothes and ask pathetic questions like: when do they get off the ice?  I know these new people think I am like an anti-hockey mom.  It was only till one of them mentioned they might be on a hockey parent reality show that I blurted out “I have a blog.”

This is the last weekend of the hockey season, for the most part.   I am almost comfortable enough to write about breaking into the hockey mom, dare I say Muffia?  I’ve been nervous to share, but everyone knows the first rule of Muffia: there is no Muffia. So what’s the harm?  I promise it’s coming  soon.  I have a whole season to dish on and a few weeks before lacrosse starts.

my big boy Nick. still playing hockey. here is proof.

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Weight Issues Wednesday is Back

Tis the season to diet. Here are my  issues this Wednesday

1.  The Dukan Diet  It’s everything I like in a diet: low carb, French, and trending.  I’m a believer.  I read the book.  I started the diet.  I got stuck explaining it to everyone at work until I got bored at the sound of my own voice.  Two girls at work started it.  One of them is down ten pounds.   The other is down seven.  I am up four.  I hate them.  Yes all of this has gone down over the course of a week.

2.  My scale.  I have had the same scale for seventeen years.  I bought her at K Mart in Richmond, VA in the fall of 1994.   I was a freshman in college and needed to verify that my diet of everything in the dining hall, plus all the alcohol I could reach, topped off with a late night pizza was, indeed, making me blow up like a tick.  She served the purpose.  The scale took me thru all my yo-yo dieting and three pregnancies.  Last year my husband brought home a free gift from a customer- A super accurate, medical grade, digital scale.  It’s my mortal enemy.  I just think digital scales are so tactless the way they blurt out a number right in your face.  And I don’t trust them…one number on the carpet, another on the tile, so unpredictable and moody.  I’m going back to my K Mart special.  She might not be accurate but she knows me and what I’ve weighed my entire adult life. And she’s ok just politely gesturing toward the number without the rude display.  No more flashy digital for me.

3.  Wine.  It has been fourteen days since my last glass of red wine.  It’s remarkable I’m not skinny already.  We’ll see if I make it until next Wednesday.

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Hockey Mom Blog – inaugural post of 2012

My blog is one year old this month.  Well, sort of.  I wrote my first post as a 2010 New Year’s Resolution, then didn’t hit “Publish” until December 31, 2010.   In January I was off and running and blogged myself right thru till the hockey season.  By spring I was convinced I would quit my job and become a professional mom blogger.  But  I didn’t.  The world of pro mom blogging isn’t really my jam, and there are plenty of women blogging the living heck out of motherhood anyway.  I took a step back.

A few nights ago I got a text from a friend that said “you better get going on your blog” and mentioned something about someone blogging about rink food or something.   Of course I am a little competitive, so when I was at the particularly delightful Veterans Memorial Rink in Somerville, MA …I thought I better blog about it.  They have a nice street hockey corner, flat screens and even a stack of picture books in the warm lobby.   The snack bar menu looked like it belonged an exit down 93 in the Italian North End.  Rigatoni, meatballs, you name it.  I took a pic of Lex with the yummy meatball sliders- 3  for $5.

Yes my daughter is adorable, the sliders are appetizing (if you are hungry from dieting like me…and let’s face it who isn’t this time of year?)  and the painted picnic table is cool.  Look at me I am hockey mom blogging…so relevant, so informative.  I even used a real camera! I wouldn’t count on seeing things like this very often.  Besides it was a little boring, am I right?

However the next time I get back to the Pixy Concession at Falmouth Ice Arena   expect a multi-page pictorial review.  Breakfast sandwiches, fried green beans, steak bombs…we’ll file it under Weight Issues Wednesday.

Ok hockey moms, hit me with your rink food tips and confessions.  What do you and your kids love and hate?  The good, the bad, and the ugly…let’s hear it.

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Picture Day

Tonight was Picture Night at what I like to call the “new” league, where the big kids are.  I already survived the complete shitshow that is Mite picture day at the “old” league, gotten the pictures back, left them shoved into the glass while I held a friend’s baby during practice, sent a dopey “reply all” email to the team looking for them, found out they were still shoved in the glass, called a friend that was still at the rink, drove back to the rink, and found out my friend had already found them and took them home. The good news is the new picture day reminded me of this fiasco and I actually remembered to get the pictures back tonight, two weeks later.   I know, I make this hockey mom thing just seem effortless.

Now if you are like me you have professional photos of your kids from school and sports shoved into every drawer in the house and never really get around to frame them or give them all to grandparents.  And you think of those stuffed drawers when you are faced with the complicated order forms, staring at packages A, B, C, D…the a la carte menus, the upgrades like t-shirts and mouse pads and tote bags for people who really love their children.  It’s a bit overwhelming.  My advice is to always go with the Memory Mate.   Every photographer has a Memory Mate option.  It’s usually around $12-$14, you get the 5×7 Individual and a team photo.  That’s all you need right there.  You can’t go wrong.  It’s about the MEMORIES, after all.

So this year I didn’t do the Memory Mate.  It’s because my husband was with me at the Mite picture day and he is a sucker for the trading cards.   I know this because he is always calling me from stuff asking the kids’ heights and weights.  What do I look like, a tape measure? I have no idea!  So since it was my little one’s first year of “real” hockey, we got some crazy $40 package.  (the package I left at the rink.)

Tonight I was again faced with the daunting task of writing the letters of my name and address in the weird little boxes- does the dot in my email address get its own box?- not sure.  While I internally debated continuing the 2011 photo spending spree or just sticking with the Memory Mate, I was interrupted by some nonsense about getting the two kids’ picture taken together.  Someone implied this could somehow save me money, and it sounded cute.  It meant me filling out three forms.  And the money saving option somehow added up to $54.  The plan also assumed my eleven year old would be willing to get dressed and on the ice early and pose with his younger sister, and not run off with his friends chasing a bouncing ball like shaggy haired Labrador Retrievers.  So anyway, that plan was a bust.

All this time and money spent on pictures, one would think I would have Christmas cards by now, not so much.  Right after Thanksgiving I planned to have my friend take a picture at the rink because all of my kids were in their gear at the same time.  I even did my hair and makeup in case the hubs and I decided to jump in.  I considered bringing my dog.  Thank God I didn’t. For several reasons, the plan was a bust.  Looking back I can’t believe I actually tried to stage my own picture day- I must truly be crazy.  But I guess I knew that.

 

 

 

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Untouchable

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged about hockey.  Luckily Thanksgiving weekend was chock-full of hockey mom blog material.

My little one played in the Mite C Jamboree at our home league’s Annual Thanksgiving Tournament.   It’s a really cute couple of days of cross ice hockey where they don’t keep score and the kids get to play a lot of different teams and feel like superstars.  What really cracked me up was the exciting environment seemed to convince some of the parents that their kids truly are superstars.  Of course they brought their cowbells, and they brought their crazy.  My favorite nutjob of the jamboree was this guy:

I don’t know if you can tell by my cell phone photo but he is kicking the boards and banging the glass at the same time.  He is a particular fan of the young goalie, I presume that’s his son, or nephew or protegé, it’s hard to say.   But he screamed in the kid’s ear the entire time.  “Bang your pipes kid, know where you are.  Here they come.  Here they come.  Shut him down.  SHUT. HIM. DOWN!  SAVE! YES! That’s it kid, that’s it.  Alright, get up.  Bang your pipes kid.  Know where you are…”  As completely tapped as the guy was, I recognized him as an acceptable hockey parent when our goalie made a save…”nice save, goalie” he yelled.  And with those three words I decided I liked him.

After the game he called the goalie over, kneeled down to look in his eyes and said “Look at me.  You’re untouchable.  No one in here can touch you. You hear me? You’re untouchable.”  Some might question this parenting.  Many might be put off by a guy screaming “SHUT HIM DOWN!” at six-year olds in a game with no scoreboard. Personally, I am in my fifth consecutive year of Mite hockey and desperate for entertainment. If some puckhead off his meds comes along to break up the monotony, bring it, baby (I’ll even cheer him on)….you’re untouchable, buddy! Bang that plexiglass! Drink your Rockstar Energy!  Adjust your Bluetooth- no one can touch you!

Here’s my boy in the net on Friday…fortunately not the same day as the untouchable protegé.

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If you are really out there….my apologies for the past couple of minutes.  This was my first time using Google Chrome to blog and you would be surprised how confused I got.  Well maybe you wouldn’t be that surprised.  xoxo Meg

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These Are the Days

When I was seventeen, my friend Jill and I used to love to drive around in her dad’s black Volvo sedan and listed to the 10,000 Maniacs.  We would drive by boys’ houses, or to the Emerald Square Mall or to Taco Bell where we would hide from passersby as we ate bean burritos- which we believed were the “healthy” Taco Bell item…but not so healthy that we would want anyone knowing we were at Taco Bell.  The favorite 10,000 Maniacs songs was, of course, These Are Days  and of course Natalie Merchant’s words spoke to my high school heart and I believed these were truly the best days of my life.

These are the days These are days you’ll remember Never before and never since, I promise Will the whole world be warm as this And as you feel it, You’ll know it’s true That you are blessed and lucky

Today, November 21, 2011, has been crazy in the most ordinary way, full of the nutty, the boring, the stressful in the best sense of the word.

  • My 1st grader threw a fit on the way out the door over a missing sweatshirt (I believe the filthy thing ran off on its own in search of a laundromat)
  • During the search I found a beautiful homemade necklace in a box marked “Happy Nothing Day” on top of the washer from my daughter Lexi.  She is so purely honest and loving and I guess she knows that these (nothing) days are the days.
  • My hectic work day was interrupted by a fun company activity filling baskets for needy families; truly a priveledge.
  • I came home to homework and hockey and an inexplicable cardboard guitar building project in the middle of the front doorway.
  • I am blessed and lucky enough to have my Granny, Dad and little brother Buddy’s birthdays this week, but I am a bit behind on the execution of their gifts.  Shhhh!
  • Tonight is the night I absolutely must, without a doubt go Thanksgiving dinner shopping, because I am cooking for 17…a very blessed and lucky number 🙂
  • I am going to leave as soon as I finish cooking tonight’s meatloaf.
  • While we wait, I blog, and Luke builds his cardboard guitar.  He casually mentions that the next time we go to Chelo’s, he is going to skinny dip, but not by himself because there is a sign there that says “No Skinny Dipping Alone”…isn’t 6 a little young to learn to read???
  • Aforementioned meatloaf was delayed a bit due to me checking on it and…splattering it ALL. OVER. THE. FLOOR.  It’s back in the pan and cooking again.  Shhhhh!
  • Mom- forget what you just read, I am not cooking meatloaf.  I would never do that to my children.
  • I think THESE truly are the days.
  • I KNOW that I am blessed and lucky.
  • As Melissa Gorga would say “Thank you Jesus”

These are days These are the days you might fill With laughter until you break These days you might feel A shaft of light Make its way across your face And when you do Then you’ll know how it was meant to be See the signs and know their meaning It’s true Then you’ll know how it was meant to be Hear the signs and know they’re speaking To you, to you

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Life, Love, and getting to the rink on time…

A few weeks ago, on a rainy Friday afternoon, I was reminded of the tagline of my blog: “life, love, and getting to the rink on time”.  Then I was reminded that I have a blog, and I really should, umm, BLOG, on occasion….so here goes.  

On this particular Friday afternoon, I found myself in the drivers’ seat of my minivan, in the rink parking lot, sobbing.  What got me to that point?  Well it was a little life, a lot of love, and, of course, a lack of getting to the rink on time. 

The fabulous "Teapot Granny"

I started that day with a couple of things on my agenda:  visit my fabulous Granny at the hospital in Providence after her mascectomy/reconstruction…if you know my Granny you aren’t surprised that she happened to have breast cancer during the month of October when it is uber fashionable. 

I also wanted to visit my Uncle Duffy in the hospital in Boston.  He was gravely ill, well, dying really, of Pulmonary Fibrosis, a disease that only seems fashionable in my family.  I had seen him the weekend before on my way home from a hockey tournament, naturally, and had planned on going back.  I had told him I would be back.  This is a lot easier than saying good bye.  Love

Surprisingly, but then not that surprisingly, Granny was being released early from the hospital.  At 82 years of age they were releasing her the day after a major surgery. The lady is a rockstar.  That freed up some time for the 3rd patient of the day…my dog Lola.  I don’t know why but after months of itching and days of a nasty looking ear, I decided today was the day I would squeak out a vet appotment.  It took forever, it cost a fortune, and I got a late start to Boston.   Then it started dowpouring.  Life

My navigation loves to take me thru the rougher areas of town- the ghetto, for lack of a better term.  I am pretty much ok with it, because I truly believe in my Odyssey, and because I always get places faster than other suckers who use Garmins and other crap GPS’s.   But this day there were just too many lights in the ghetto, and I got tired of stopping at them, so I followed the guy in front of me through what I would call an “orange” light.  I was then pulled over by a charming Boston Police Officer.  He held me up for 15 minutes before giving me a written warning.  I wasn’t making good time.  (Not) getting to the rink on time.

Before I went into the hospital, I called my best girl Amy.  She was going to have to back me up.  Only a special hockey mom is willing to go to your house, get your kids, feed them, and then actually drop them at another rink, even when she has her own rink to get to.  If you don’t have friends like this, than I suggest you find some.   Or call me, I’ll have your back. Love.  

That afternoon at the hospital I visited with cousins, had a chocolate croissant at Au Bon Pain, and met my friend’s brother’s new bride (I recognized her from the wedding photos on Facebook and introduced myself- yeah I’m a weirdo like that).  Also, I saw my uncle that day.  Ever so briefly.  He was tired and getting weak.  I told him about the cop who pulled me over but didn’t give me a ticket.  He said “your lucky.”  (yes I am, in too many ways to count).  I told him I loved him very much and he said “I love you very much.”  That was worth the trip.  I drove home in Friday afternoon traffic out of Boston in the pouring rain.  I raced and raced in the way you do when you are trying to get to the rink on time.   I didn’t.   But I didn’t cry until I got to the parking lot. 

Life, Love and getting to the rink on time.

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Early sunsets…one of my favorite things.

As Jay Z would say “don’t call it a comeback”…but yes I am back to the blog.  It was either that or a really long facebook status. 

I am probably one of the only people who enjoys when it starts to get dark early.  Don’t get me wrong, I love when it starts staying light until really late, too.  I just like extremes, it’s probably why I love New England weather. 

This afternoon I was driving home from work at about 3:00 and it was already just a little bit dim outside.  The sun was just a little low in the sky, and it had that look of a winter’s afternoon (even though it was 60 degrees out, that’s the beauty of “thermal climate change”).  When I see the sun low in the sky at 3pm and I just happened to be home, there is only one thing that crosses my mind … General Hospital.  Nothing says cozy on a November (sweeps) afternoon like a little GH.  Needless to say I don’t follow any soaps these days, since I am a busy working hockey mom of three who has a lot of reality shows to keep up with, including the ingenious Dirty Soap.  But just the sound of GH in the background makes my house feel like a home to me. 

I still remember watching Luke and Laura get married after school at my Aunt Norma’s house.  She loved General Hospital as well, but it was pure coincidence that we both named one of our babies Luke.  Really.  I remember watching the highly publicized Robin and Stone romance with friends in college.   I always felt like daytime tv made a dorm feel more like home. 

But I wasn’t free in the afternoon again until the Fall of 2000.  Shortly after my first baby, Nicholas, was born, we somehow didn’t have cable.  I’m not sure what happened, but I have a hunch it had something to do with my darling husband’s frugality. Around 3:00 everyday, Nick would nurse.  It was then that I turned on a slightly fuzzy local ABC station to catch up on GH.  I had no idea what was going on, but I was thrilled that my beloved Laura had a Greek love child named Nikolas.  I would sit in a big recliner in my apartment and let my baby nap on my shoulder when he was done nursing.  He would snuggle up in that way that newborns do with their butts in the air.  When GH was over, it was dark out.  The evening was here, I had survived another day of motherhood. 

This afternoon I came home to a total shitshow…the kids had gotten report cards and Luke had somehow ripped his; my husband had realized he was stuck in Connecticut with all of Lexi’s hockey gear;  I found out I had made a typo in an email address so someone didn’t get the documents for a closing in Long Island that was happening, ummm, NOW; and the onions in my crockpot were still crunchy.  I turned on GH, I got to hear Sonny Corinthos’ voice for a few minutes until it somehow switched to Spongebob.  But then it got dark.  It is November.  I have Christmas catalogs to peek thru, wine to open, and I have survived another day of motherhood.

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#Hurricrazy

Well despite my efforts to spread the word that there is no such thing as hurricanes in the Northeast, (the idea is just a scam cooked up by Jim Cantore, and purported by the unbalanced rants of Stephanie Abrams), it seems we are doing this whole hurricane thing.  So be it. 

Now many of you are probably busy storing bottled water and batteries, and if disaster preparedness is your jam, than you go with that.  I’ve decided to use this time a little more productively. I’m creating a Twitter hashtag that I’m hoping will trend:  #hurricrazy : ie “if you ___ than you might be #hurricrazy.”  I would fill in the ___ , but every example I can think of actually describes one or more of my parents.  I don’t want to be disrespectful, I mean they did keep me alive during Hurricane Gloria. #survivors #hurricrazy

A few things about Irene I know for sure:

  1. The show goes on~  Nick’s first hockey scrimmage of the season is on Saturday, yeah I just said “season” in August.  It’s ba-aaaack! (and it doesn’t stop for weather.)
  2. Just so happens I planned a weekend in Newport with a few of my girlfriends; now maybe we’ll get the whole town to ourselves- lucky day!
  3. Or, even better, maybe The Weather Channel will send this guy: 

    You're Welcome

     

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