I sent my son Luke a text last night, it read, “I am so proud of you right now it is making me cry. Losing in a shootout sucks, but you are becoming a man right before my eyes”. Sports do that, hockey does that. Last year Luke tried out for a select team hosted by the Carolina Hurricanes that makes an annual pilgrimage to Quebec to compete in the largest PeeWee Hockey Tournament in the world. He did not make the team. As a mom I chalked it up to a learning experience, but that did not stop my heart from hurting when I saw his reaction to being told the news. He got over it and so did I, and he went on doing what he loves – playing hockey.
This year when Luke was approached to play on that same team, he was ready. He stepped up his game, and his courage, and accepted the position. This was not an easy thing for Luke, or for me. These players go to Quebec for 11 days and live with billet families, in Luke’s case the mother and 3 children barely spoke English, their native language is French. Luke is a homebody – this was definitely out of his comfort zone. I don’t think the reality of it all hit until we went to get his passport and paid for his airline ticket. Luke started getting excited, I started getting nauseous. As the date of departure drew closer I packed and repacked his stuff, bought and borrowed winter clothes, begged and bribed his teachers to help make this work for Luke, and worried about what presents to send to his host family. I started having nightmares about planes and other what ifs that I know would nag me until he came home. The problem was I was not going on this trip. I was taking a leap of faith and sending my 12 year old boy on a plane, to another country, with a team I barely knew…please pass the Valium!
Luke called crying the first night not sure if he was up to this challenge. I talked tough, pumped him up, hung up and then cried at home. Ten minutes later he called back breathlessly asking where his pond hockey skates were packed – and with that he was off and running. This was the first time my son, my oldest, was living a life that I had no control over. I texted him, but unless he chose to text me back there were entire days that went by when I had no idea what he was doing or who he was with. I confess under normal circumstances I am the one people ask, why do you even have a cell phone? You never have it on or have it with you. During this incredibly long 11 days I carried that phone EVERYWHERE, and when it rang I rushed to answer it like a lovesick teenager. We raise our children to be independent and self reliant but this first brush with adulthood was overwhelming for me.
The wonders of technology allowed me to download a live feed of Luke’s tournament games, so I got to watch him play. On the night of the first game a fellow hockey Mom happened to have stopped by, so she witnessed my frenzied attempts to get the game on, by the time I got it right it was the second period, and it booted up just in time to allow me to see the OTHER team, the Colorado Avalanche, score. The first time I saw Luke take the ice I clapped and screamed like a little girl. Luke scored a beautiful goal on a breakaway – I hurt my hand banging it on the table. He scored again, another breakaway. The game ended 3-1, we advanced and I was beside myself that I was not there to share in the excitement, especially when I found out that Luke had scored the first goal as well – a hat trick! Game number 2 was against Germany, Luke scores, then Germany ties it up, a Hurricanes teammate scores, it is 2-1 we win and advance, and again I am alone in my kitchen celebrating while my son dances on the ice with his team in Canada. Game #3 is against Hershey who finished second overall in last year’s tournament. Luke scores a beauty at the end of the first period; it is 1-0 for the rest of the game then heartbreak. Less than two minutes left one of our guys gets a penalty, man down and with 39 seconds left in the game they tie it up. No one scores in a five minute overtime and we lose in a shootout. I am again sitting at my table as my son and his team take deep breathes and take their consolation lap around the ice as they salute their fans and the citizens of Quebec who opened their hearts and their city to them. It was then, watching Luke handle defeat that I got a glimpse of the man that he will become. It was then that I sent the text, and it was then that I was the most proud.
This tournament has given Luke the opportunity to see beyond the small communities we have always lived in. He played teams from Russia, England, Switzerland, Canada and other parts of the United States. He budgeted his own money, scheduled 8 days worth of homework and sat down with a strange family every night for dinner. Do I wish his team had won? YES!!!!! I cannot tell a lie, it drives me absolutely crazy that the Avalanche advanced through the loser’s bracket and played in the championship – WE BEAT THEM!!! It drives me equally insane that Hershey, who beat us in a shootout, won our division!! But I will get over it and so will Luke. What will remain is a new found confidence for both of us. Luke will come away with a better understanding of all that he is capable of, and I hope a willingness to continue to reach for things that might seem to be beyond his grasp. And I come away a little bit closer to being ready to accept that my little boy, who turns 13 two days after he gets back, is growing up. Hockey does that.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Cars
I hate this feeling. I am sitting at a car dealership completely vulnerable because I just turned over the keys to my minivan to the mechanic and have absolutely no clue how much it will cost to buy them back. This isn't a oil change visit, this is a visit where I try to simulate the noise that my car is making whenever I put it in reverse. In this economy I fear the worst. I see the mechanic's eyes begin to gleam as I continue to try duplicating the foreign grinding noise that sporadically comes from my engine. I see that look and think, this won't be good.
It gets even more ominous when that same mechanic sends a salesman in to explore buying new rather than continuing to invest in a beater. 'Ma'am, (yes I am a ma'am) this might be the ideal time to consider buying a new car rather than invest any money in that vending machine on wheels that you pulled in with'. I admit a family could survive for days on the residue that is on my van's floor, BUT that same vehicle is paid in full. "Ma'am interest rates are at historic lows and we can offer incredible deals on any car on the lot"," thank you but I like my car", "yes but it is a piece of crap that should not be on the road", "yes but it is paid for", "yes but with the deals we are offering right now your new car could also be paid for in less than six years". I fear that the longer this conversation goes on, the more expensive my bill is becoming.
I am not a car person. I like my car to start every time I turn it on and to run for as long as I need it to, the rest is icing. I lived in Boston for years when I graduated from college. On street parking taught me not to stress over dings, dents or scratches. When you stop worrying about what a car looks like you really stop worrying about cars. I bought a car for $1,200 when my other car got repo'd, that is a story for another time. The car was an oxidized tomato red Datsun (remember those?) B210 hatchback. I named her Bertha. That little car was the best car I ever owned. She had way over 100,000 miles on her but, regardless of the weather, no matter how cold it was she always started. She carried me through storms, through poor maintenance and through my youthful drunken mistakes. One time, after a few too many beers and chicken wings I was driving home and turned left onto the metro train rails, Bertha did not complain, she continued grinding her way along on the rails until I could find a spot to finally turn off of them. Bertha leaked oil, there was no real upholstery left because it had been fried by the sun and I remember a time when my rather tall boyfriend, now my husband, climbed into her passenger seat and shot rather violently straight into the back seat because the seat was broken. Bertha may have been ugly but she was a gem. When I was ready to grow up a little and move up to a newer model, I got teary when I had to hand over her keys to her new owner. I went over the long list of quirks that I thought he should know about and then, feeling like a traitor, I climbed into my mazda and drove away. I had traded Bertha for a months rent.
I don't know what became of Bertha, but I do know that I would see her occasionally over the next few years driving around Boston. I drove that car for over four years, now that is a good investment!
So the mechanic just came in, new timing belt and other assorted recommendations bring my total to $590. Do I really need everything that they suggested? I don't know. I do know that I will not be driving off the lot in a new car when my current car is still serving me well. So I will write the check and climb back into my less than beautiful van and drive home. My kids will be sad and my husband will be disgusted, they all think I need a new car, but I don't care. I do realize however, that my van needs a name.
It gets even more ominous when that same mechanic sends a salesman in to explore buying new rather than continuing to invest in a beater. 'Ma'am, (yes I am a ma'am) this might be the ideal time to consider buying a new car rather than invest any money in that vending machine on wheels that you pulled in with'. I admit a family could survive for days on the residue that is on my van's floor, BUT that same vehicle is paid in full. "Ma'am interest rates are at historic lows and we can offer incredible deals on any car on the lot"," thank you but I like my car", "yes but it is a piece of crap that should not be on the road", "yes but it is paid for", "yes but with the deals we are offering right now your new car could also be paid for in less than six years". I fear that the longer this conversation goes on, the more expensive my bill is becoming.
I am not a car person. I like my car to start every time I turn it on and to run for as long as I need it to, the rest is icing. I lived in Boston for years when I graduated from college. On street parking taught me not to stress over dings, dents or scratches. When you stop worrying about what a car looks like you really stop worrying about cars. I bought a car for $1,200 when my other car got repo'd, that is a story for another time. The car was an oxidized tomato red Datsun (remember those?) B210 hatchback. I named her Bertha. That little car was the best car I ever owned. She had way over 100,000 miles on her but, regardless of the weather, no matter how cold it was she always started. She carried me through storms, through poor maintenance and through my youthful drunken mistakes. One time, after a few too many beers and chicken wings I was driving home and turned left onto the metro train rails, Bertha did not complain, she continued grinding her way along on the rails until I could find a spot to finally turn off of them. Bertha leaked oil, there was no real upholstery left because it had been fried by the sun and I remember a time when my rather tall boyfriend, now my husband, climbed into her passenger seat and shot rather violently straight into the back seat because the seat was broken. Bertha may have been ugly but she was a gem. When I was ready to grow up a little and move up to a newer model, I got teary when I had to hand over her keys to her new owner. I went over the long list of quirks that I thought he should know about and then, feeling like a traitor, I climbed into my mazda and drove away. I had traded Bertha for a months rent.
I don't know what became of Bertha, but I do know that I would see her occasionally over the next few years driving around Boston. I drove that car for over four years, now that is a good investment!
So the mechanic just came in, new timing belt and other assorted recommendations bring my total to $590. Do I really need everything that they suggested? I don't know. I do know that I will not be driving off the lot in a new car when my current car is still serving me well. So I will write the check and climb back into my less than beautiful van and drive home. My kids will be sad and my husband will be disgusted, they all think I need a new car, but I don't care. I do realize however, that my van needs a name.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Ode To A Hamster
We added a new member to the family last night, Lulu the hamster. She is our third. My girls are totally devoted to their hamsters, so when they die the grief is real and lingering. Sam was our first, a birthday gift for Hannah when she turned eight. Sammy was an escape artist whose disappearances prompted many family searches. For the record, hamsters can fit into some incredibly tight spaces! The first time he went missing the entire family joined in and tore the house apart. The sense of urgency diminished with each occurrence, but the love for the hamster didn't. On one occasion he got into the couch and we actually had to flip it and cut a whole in the bottom to get him out.
On a horribly sad day, Hannah called me to tell me Sammy had learned a new trick, playing dead. He wasn't but he was close. The next hour and a half proved to be one of the most challenging times my girls had ever faced. It was clear that Sammy was dying and there was nothing we could do. I did what I thought was best and told the girls that as much as Sammy loved them it was their turn to show their love for him. They sat with that little hamster, held him, pet him and loved him until he died in their arms. When they looked at Sammy and begged, "Please don't leave us, please don't die" I was even sobbing. Hannah and Hailey decorated a little box, we made a bed out of cotton, placed Sammy carefully in it and buried him in the back yard under a tree.
I endlessly debated buying another hamster. I didn't want to teach the girls that love was replaceable, that you could lose something so dear and then just go buy another one. A month went by, and we were all still missing Sammy. I went and picked out Lucy. I put her in my closet and let the girls 'find' her. Their joy told me I did the right thing.
I was in the office one day when I finally became aware of Sydney's frenzied barking, which then went oddly silent. Knowing Sydney like I do, I ran to find her and was horrified to see Lucy dangling from her mouth. All you could see of that little hamster was the tip of her nose poking out of one side of Sydney's mouth and her flailing hind feet hanging out the other side. I PANICKED! I could not imagine telling the girls that we had lost Lucy and that it was Sydney that had killed her. Meanwhile, Sydney was looking at me like, ' what do I do now?' I yelled at her to 'drop it' and she gladly spit Lucy out into my hands. The hamster looked like she had been through a bad car wash, covered with spit and remnants of Sydney's breakfast. Amazingly enough, Lucy came away from her encounter with Sydney unscathed. Unfortunately, Lucy would succumb to some unknown ailment six months later. Hamsters do not last long but this was awful. Again, the girls held her in their arms, fed her drops of water and loved her until the end. In each of these moments I watched my little girls reach deep inside themselves and find the strength to be there for these little creatures that needed them. She was buried in a similar ceremony right next to Sammy.
You have to understand how much my girls love these hamsters before you could possibly understand why we bring home yet another tiny friend. For Hannah, these hamsters assume a role that is more than pet. They are the first thing she checks on in the morning and the last thing she checks on before she goes to bed. You have to be careful hugging Hannah, because more often than not, there is a hamster in her hand, her pocket, her hood or somewhere on her body. On one occasion, Hannah was cuddling with Lucy and fell asleep. I found the two of them on Hannah's bed, both asleep. Lucy had chewed a hole in Hannah's shirt, that Hannah was wearing, the size of my open palm and made a nest out of it, but it was cute all the same. When Hailey has a friend over and Hannah is left out, which, being the little sister, she often is, she has her furry friend to love.
So getting another hamster might be crazy, is definitely risky, but a mistake? I don't think so. As parents we really never know if we are doing a good job until it is way too late. We can only rely on our instincts, listen to our hearts and hope and pray for the best. We want to insulate our kids from all the pain and failure that life can bring, but should we?
Welcome home Lulu.
On a horribly sad day, Hannah called me to tell me Sammy had learned a new trick, playing dead. He wasn't but he was close. The next hour and a half proved to be one of the most challenging times my girls had ever faced. It was clear that Sammy was dying and there was nothing we could do. I did what I thought was best and told the girls that as much as Sammy loved them it was their turn to show their love for him. They sat with that little hamster, held him, pet him and loved him until he died in their arms. When they looked at Sammy and begged, "Please don't leave us, please don't die" I was even sobbing. Hannah and Hailey decorated a little box, we made a bed out of cotton, placed Sammy carefully in it and buried him in the back yard under a tree.
I endlessly debated buying another hamster. I didn't want to teach the girls that love was replaceable, that you could lose something so dear and then just go buy another one. A month went by, and we were all still missing Sammy. I went and picked out Lucy. I put her in my closet and let the girls 'find' her. Their joy told me I did the right thing.
I was in the office one day when I finally became aware of Sydney's frenzied barking, which then went oddly silent. Knowing Sydney like I do, I ran to find her and was horrified to see Lucy dangling from her mouth. All you could see of that little hamster was the tip of her nose poking out of one side of Sydney's mouth and her flailing hind feet hanging out the other side. I PANICKED! I could not imagine telling the girls that we had lost Lucy and that it was Sydney that had killed her. Meanwhile, Sydney was looking at me like, ' what do I do now?' I yelled at her to 'drop it' and she gladly spit Lucy out into my hands. The hamster looked like she had been through a bad car wash, covered with spit and remnants of Sydney's breakfast. Amazingly enough, Lucy came away from her encounter with Sydney unscathed. Unfortunately, Lucy would succumb to some unknown ailment six months later. Hamsters do not last long but this was awful. Again, the girls held her in their arms, fed her drops of water and loved her until the end. In each of these moments I watched my little girls reach deep inside themselves and find the strength to be there for these little creatures that needed them. She was buried in a similar ceremony right next to Sammy.
You have to understand how much my girls love these hamsters before you could possibly understand why we bring home yet another tiny friend. For Hannah, these hamsters assume a role that is more than pet. They are the first thing she checks on in the morning and the last thing she checks on before she goes to bed. You have to be careful hugging Hannah, because more often than not, there is a hamster in her hand, her pocket, her hood or somewhere on her body. On one occasion, Hannah was cuddling with Lucy and fell asleep. I found the two of them on Hannah's bed, both asleep. Lucy had chewed a hole in Hannah's shirt, that Hannah was wearing, the size of my open palm and made a nest out of it, but it was cute all the same. When Hailey has a friend over and Hannah is left out, which, being the little sister, she often is, she has her furry friend to love.
So getting another hamster might be crazy, is definitely risky, but a mistake? I don't think so. As parents we really never know if we are doing a good job until it is way too late. We can only rely on our instincts, listen to our hearts and hope and pray for the best. We want to insulate our kids from all the pain and failure that life can bring, but should we?
Welcome home Lulu.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Hannah and Blondie
We have been considering getting another dog. My theory, hope, is that if Sydney had a friend to play with she might calm down a little. Sydney weighs in at a buff 75 pounds, so I really would like this second dog to be in the smaller, more manageable range. I met a woman, Colleen, who rescues strays from local shelters. This woman is a SAINT! At this moment she has 25 dogs freely roaming in her beautiful home. Her specialty is the lap dog variety. I went with a friend to check out her pack and came home with Blondie. Blondie is a mutant chihuaha who thinks he is a rottweiler. I have to say it was extremely difficult getting Blondie out of Colleen's house without clothing. Colleen is a firm believer that small dogs should be fully accessorized before going out in public. Since I find it difficult to accessorize myself before I leave the house, odds are slim that I will be dressing my dog. Colleen was chasing me down the street waving a 'manly' blue fleece coat as I drove away.
Blondie proved to be a great little dog who kept Sydney on her toes. Unfortunately, we could not make this match work. The dealbreaker proved to be the underground fence we had installed. I quickly realized that I cannot have a dog that is too small to wear a collar. The adventure really began when we went to return Blondie to Colleen's. My two girls fought over who got to hold him in the car, so to give them a little more time I ran some errands instead of going directly to his foster home. We stopped to look at a house that was in, surprise, foreclosure, and the girls got out to look at the pool, leaving Blondie in the car. When I said it was time to go it became a mad dash to get back to the car to grab the coveted seat next to the dog. My daughter Hannah won the race. She slid in, grabbed the dog and grinned victoriously at her sister Hailey. It was then that Hailey started screaming and gagging and I noticed a noxious odor. Blondie had had diarrhea on the car seat, and Hannah, in her zeal had slid right through it. Upon realizing that her behind was covered in doggy doo she scrambled to get out and firmly planted her hands in the poop, slid forward and landed in it. All the while Hailey is wretching outside of the door, and I am in the front seat laughing so hard I am trying not to pee. Hannah was COVERED, but her pants were the worst. I told her we would have to take the pants off and she would ride home in her panties. This is so Hannah, she looked at me in horror, she had no panties on!! Her explanation, she forgot to put them on that morning. I cleaned the car as best I could, wrapped Hannah in a towel and beelined for Colleen's. Hailey would only sit on the floor and continued to moan and groan about the smell, Hannah was crying and Blondie was barking, and I was still laughing. We got to Colleen's and she wasn't home so I opened the front door shoved Blondie in slammed the door and took off.
I am rethinking the second dog idea.
Blondie proved to be a great little dog who kept Sydney on her toes. Unfortunately, we could not make this match work. The dealbreaker proved to be the underground fence we had installed. I quickly realized that I cannot have a dog that is too small to wear a collar. The adventure really began when we went to return Blondie to Colleen's. My two girls fought over who got to hold him in the car, so to give them a little more time I ran some errands instead of going directly to his foster home. We stopped to look at a house that was in, surprise, foreclosure, and the girls got out to look at the pool, leaving Blondie in the car. When I said it was time to go it became a mad dash to get back to the car to grab the coveted seat next to the dog. My daughter Hannah won the race. She slid in, grabbed the dog and grinned victoriously at her sister Hailey. It was then that Hailey started screaming and gagging and I noticed a noxious odor. Blondie had had diarrhea on the car seat, and Hannah, in her zeal had slid right through it. Upon realizing that her behind was covered in doggy doo she scrambled to get out and firmly planted her hands in the poop, slid forward and landed in it. All the while Hailey is wretching outside of the door, and I am in the front seat laughing so hard I am trying not to pee. Hannah was COVERED, but her pants were the worst. I told her we would have to take the pants off and she would ride home in her panties. This is so Hannah, she looked at me in horror, she had no panties on!! Her explanation, she forgot to put them on that morning. I cleaned the car as best I could, wrapped Hannah in a towel and beelined for Colleen's. Hailey would only sit on the floor and continued to moan and groan about the smell, Hannah was crying and Blondie was barking, and I was still laughing. We got to Colleen's and she wasn't home so I opened the front door shoved Blondie in slammed the door and took off.
I am rethinking the second dog idea.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Introducing Sydney - our Labradoodle
My first post - there is so much pressure!! Am I going for humorous? Serious? Reflective? Sentimental? I guess I will figure it out as I go. I am a Mom who stays home for the most part, although I am working hard to find my niche in the 'outside'. Anyone out there hiring? I have three kids, a lunatic labradoodle who is far more lab than doodle, and we are currently searching for the perfect hamster, our third. I love to write, thus the blog.
I think I will begin my blogging career with a quick story... My dog, Sydney, entertains our neighborhood. I believe their amusement stems largely from the same syndrome that allows grandparents to love their grandchildren with total abandon, they get to give them back. Our neighborhood gets to enjoy tales of Sydney's antics from the safety and comfort of their own homes. One of Sydney's greatest talents is that she can eat ANYTHING, the gamble then becomes - from which end will she expel it? One of the few things we have managed to teach Sydney is to go "out back" to poop. Well Sydney was "out back" and was obviously struggling, being the responsible dog owner that I am, I went out to check on her. I quickly discovered she was having extreme difficulty passing a particularly long item. I confess I was tempted to pretend I had not seen anything, but instead I went and grabbed gardening gloves. Picture it, a beautiful day, and I am "out back" wearing gardening gloves pulling what turned out to be one of my favorite kitchen towels out of my dog's ass as I looked at the sky wondering where all of the glamour was that I had thought would fill my life. Well I finally got the towel out and disposed of it, only to discover one of my gardening gloves was missing. It showed up two days later in a pile "out back".
Welcome to my world.
I think I will begin my blogging career with a quick story... My dog, Sydney, entertains our neighborhood. I believe their amusement stems largely from the same syndrome that allows grandparents to love their grandchildren with total abandon, they get to give them back. Our neighborhood gets to enjoy tales of Sydney's antics from the safety and comfort of their own homes. One of Sydney's greatest talents is that she can eat ANYTHING, the gamble then becomes - from which end will she expel it? One of the few things we have managed to teach Sydney is to go "out back" to poop. Well Sydney was "out back" and was obviously struggling, being the responsible dog owner that I am, I went out to check on her. I quickly discovered she was having extreme difficulty passing a particularly long item. I confess I was tempted to pretend I had not seen anything, but instead I went and grabbed gardening gloves. Picture it, a beautiful day, and I am "out back" wearing gardening gloves pulling what turned out to be one of my favorite kitchen towels out of my dog's ass as I looked at the sky wondering where all of the glamour was that I had thought would fill my life. Well I finally got the towel out and disposed of it, only to discover one of my gardening gloves was missing. It showed up two days later in a pile "out back".
Welcome to my world.
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