Being a Hockey Widow

“He Shoots, He Scores!”
Four of the most powerful words on earth.
They have the power not only to turn grown men into little boys, but to turn wives into widows at the push of a button.

Unfortunately for me, I not only have a hockey obsessed husband, my sweet 7 year old son has come down with the disease as well. (I question whether this has anything to do with the fact that his father was watching playoffs whilst I was painfully labouring him?)

What it's like at the Graham house during playoff season:

My TV is no longer for me or Shelby. The timer is set for games on a daily basis. Good bye “Dancing With the Stars”, “American Idol”, or CSI. Even when the game isn’t on, some horrible show like “Pardon the Interruption” or “Off the Record” is. It’s excruciating.

The girls are not allowed in the living room unless we promise to be silent. Isn’t hockey supposed to be a visual game? Why are THEY allowed to yell like mentally deranged apes??

Our dinner table is no longer being used. We have set the TV tables up semi-permanently in the living room. Our children drink from their lucky hockey mugs every meal.

I fully believe Barry would be more attracted to me if I came out in a canary yellow suit, a fruit adorned tie, and a dog named Blue, rather than some sexy lacy lingerie.

My son has to mask his growing love for Boston Bruins right now as they are playing the Canadiens. If you know Barry, you know that he is a member of the Church of Latter Day Habs. So that would mean we would have to put poor Oscar up for adoption. Poor, poor, Oscar. He’s not even allowed to be true to himself!

Oscar has learned what “drinkability” means and has asked me to go get him a “Bud Lite” at snack time.


Behind our couch are two small nets, 2 sticks, street goalie equipment and a ball. During intermissions or non-hockey shows, Barry and Oscar act as their favourite players and hammer the ball at each other, my bay window, my piano, and my picture frames.


I hear chants of “Ole Ole Ole Ole Ole Ole Ole” continuously throughout the day. The sing it when you least expect it, and least want to hear it. It is a most dreaded sound in this house.


I am secretly praying that the Montreal Canadiens get eliminated tonight, so that I get a little relief. If not, someone send help. PLEASE.

What happened to Oscar?

Spring Break started out great. I hate flying so I cried, but the kids liked it.

Rae Ann and Gary were wonderful hosts and we had a great time the first few days. We took in the hockey fall of fame, CN tower and did a little shopping. We had lots of fun with our favorite family and miss them tons already.

A few hours after our arrival at Niagara Falls, Oscar became very ill. The next 36 hours consisted of Oscar puking and diarrea-ing about every 15 minutes. 6 hours after Oscar started vomiting, Shelby also started, although not nearly as much. For two nights, Barry and I were awake the entire time, taking care of our sick children. We did not get to take in the Falls. Shelby got better quite quickly. Oscar did not. He progressively and frighteningly got worse.

By the time we checked out of the hotel, I knew he needed medical attention. We drove back to Hamilton and took him to Urgent Care. They transferred him to the Pediatric Unit at the local hospital where he was listed in severe condition and given immediate IV therapy. It was very scary (I balled my eyes out) to watch my boy deteriorate so fast that day. His dehydration had caused his blood pressure and his heart rate to drop and his kidneys to make too many creatins (whatever that means). He has very little memory of that day until nighttime. He awoke and started asking about hockey scores. That was when we knew he would be okay. The next day, his vitals were good, although he was still battling fever, and not eating. We still don't know what kind of virus caused this. It was certainly not your standard flu.

We had to change our flight to make sure that he was okay to come home. He was released from the hospital on Thursday afternoon and we are now home. He is exhausted, but is doing much better. He is joking around, and eating and drinking lots.

Not only am I never leaving my yard again, I am placing my son in a glass bubble for the next 15 years.
Don't try to stop me.

Gnarly.

You know how you know when you’re cool?

When you hang out in foggy basements of clubs sitting on red couches listening to electronica - you’re wearing giant scarves around your neck, ballet slippers, and ordering crantinis - and having meaningless NONversation with the lifetime students studying world affairs.

OH FART. That’s not me. It wasn’t me 15 years ago when I DID go, and it’s not me now, when I WON’T go.

Here’s my idea of cool. Or “rockstar”, or “wicked tight”…or whatever you kids call it these days.

I like to call it “being a mom”. Here's a few reasons why.

I get to read to my kids. EVERY DAY. Sometimes it’s the same book over and over. Sometimes its not. I read Twilight just cuz my eleven year old recommended it to me. Turns out it was awesome. I mean radtacular.

I do a pretty rad ape impression and will do so on command. My kids love it and squeal in delight when I chase them around the house arms swinging and head bobbing. You should all try it. I learned it from SuperKewl Dad.

My boyo likes to go on the escalator again and again… and I let him. Because “it’s just like a ride, Mommy!”

I get to see the first joys of winning a hockey game, riding on an airplane, seeing Niagara Falls, and eating Mongo’s stirfry all through the big bright eyes of a grateful child.

I have kids who will alarmingly look for days into the corners and crevices of the earth (or the Emerson Skating Rink), when Mommy loses her lucky pocket ninja. We never found him, but who needs him when you have two little lucky charms by your side anyways?

And the biggest reason I’m cool?

I get to dance with these two.

What love means to me...

The most romantic present I ever got.

I will cherish it all year long.

I love you husband.

Wii like to Play!

My name is Mommy, and I’m a Wii addict.

It started Christmas day. I wasn’t afraid, for I’d never played video games and saw no use for them.

But after making my first Mii, I realized how talented I really was. Well, I mean, er…sorta was. SHELBY IS ELEVEN, PEOPLE! OF COURSE SHE SHOULD BE BETTER AT TENNIS!!!! (And everything else.)

I first noticed a problem when I felt the urge to fire the Wii guitar through the bay window. It’s not the guitar’s fault that I’m left handed and incapable. Right?

Later, when I realized that I’m the GREATEST ROCKBAND SINGER IN THE WORLD (oops, did I yell that? sorry), I noticed that I had stayed up until 4 a. m. singing Iron Maiden songs. I don’t even LIKE Iron Maiden!! (Rae, if you’re reading this…I’m sending you the video of me, Gabb, and Barry performing Run To The Hills…it’s horrific, have a glass of wine before you watch it)

The kicker came when I went out to buy my kids new clothes because I didn’t have time to attempt the volcanoes of laundry that had piled up in my disgusting house. I don’t remember laundry. Cooking? For the meek. We eat pizza now. In front of the TV. Family suppers are for the Waltons.

I have tennis elbow, bowling wrist pain, and my right thumbnail is flattened. I walk through the house and randomly yell "WARIO" for no particular reason. I was even busted on more than one occasion by my sweetheart, sitting out in the middle of the living room floor at 2 a.m - Mario Kart wheel in one hand, bowl of Captain Crunch in the other. Barry began to get concerned.

So what did he do? What any good husband would do. He bought me Wii curling last night. I heart him.

Christmas is the best at MY house because...

I have a fake tree. And that’s good because you won’t get a pine needle rammed between your toes when you walk in our living room. And because I could put it up in August if I wanted. I don’t. But I could.

I make the best fudge in town. You know why? Because I put Velveeta cheese in it. If you come over, I’ll share it with you. Unless you’re a creepy person that I don’t know.

There’s singing. Oh how there’s singing. I sing non-stop. The kids sing. And yes, even Barry sings. In the car, doin’ dishes, probably in his office. We are a grand bunch of singers. I make up my own words if I don’t know them. It doesn’t matter that Santa brought me 8 baconators on the eight day of Christmas.

We bought our kids the BEST presents this year. I’m so excited, I’ve been on Rolaids for a week. And the reason we bought them the best gifts, is because this year, they’ve been the BEST kids ever. And they’re also the cutest. Even though they’re at that age where they’re embarking on awkward, I still think they’re the cutest. Knobby knees, giant teeth, skinny butts and all.

I over decorate. I love flashing lights, fake snow, mistletoes, wreaths, you name them, I have them. I’ve been told it looks like Christmas barfed on my house.

I have a brand new game of Cranium Pop edition just itching to be played. Y’all know how I love me a good board game. It’s almost as good as a puzzle in my books. So I’m just waiting for someone to show up to play with me. And Barry. And Mary. Don’t worry. I’ll make dip.

Christmas makes me sick with anticipation. I’m so overwrought with joy.

OBAMANIA

Today was Remembrance Day. And I didn’t actually have a moment of silence at 11 am, not because I’m disrespectful, but mostly because I was in bed with my flu stricken son. HOW’S THAT FOR AN EXCUSE, Y’ALL???

I did however DO a lot of remembering and reflecting throughout the day. And that led me to thinking about the current situation overseas. The world is aflutter with hope right now with Barack Obama as the upcoming president next door. I am no exception to this, but I do however worry when I see so much anticipation and hope flooding through the entire planet. Call me pessimistic…lord knows I’ve been called worse, but are we building ourselves up for disappointment?

All’s I’m saying is he better not “tear up” our NAFTA agreement!

He better bring some friggin peace already!!

He better reverse that anti-gay marriage thingy!!

AND…I sure hope those assassination threats are a big ole hoax.

Ahh dangfrick. I have hope too. Can’t help it.

It’s like Obama is the new Santa Claus and I am sending him a wish list!!

They Sure Don't Make 'Em Like They Used To

A wonderful act of human kindness is all it takes to give someone a fresh perspective on life.

Let me tell you about my little revelation of joy today.

A few weeks back, I lent my crib and high chair to an older lady in our community because she was to have her baby grandchild out for a week long visit.

It was returned in excellent and clean condition and I put it away and never thought another thing about it. (Except for the longing for another itsy bitsy widdle babe to cuddle…but let’s save that for another note) hehe

Well, normally when I lend something out, or even borrow something myself, a verbal thank you is all that happens.

But this lady showed up on my doorstep an hour ago, with a freshly made chocolate cake drizzled with caramel sauce and still piping hot! Not only did she insist that I keep the plate it was on, she begged me to let her pay cash for the stuff!!! I couldn’t believe how appreciative and genuine this lady was.

Naturally, there was no way I allowed her to give me cash. 15 minutes after she left, she came back, and dropped a 4 L of ice cream on my lap. If I wasn’t going to take cash, the least she could do was buy us some ice cream to go along with our cake!

Now I don’t know why it is so scarce to find good old fashioned appreciation these days, or if we’ve just become so accustomed to our lives of convenience, we expect too much from others! But today, I learned to value some things a lot more than I did.

Each thank you card that I force my children to send for birthday or Christmas gifts, each card or picture I receive in the mail "JUST BECAUSE", and even the tiniest housewarming or hostess token…is SOOOOOO worth it!!

Not only does it build a strong character, it makes a person really nice to know!

Thank you, Mrs. Boese. For brightening my little corner.

The Psycho in Me

You watch your heart and reason for living run down the hallway and into their perspective classrooms. One wears the latest Jonas Bros. fashions while the other boasts some NFL Vikings attire. Both are confident. Both smile and high-five their friends.


Tears well up as you shakily fumble with a combination for a locker, then attempt kisses or at the very least…a darn’d hug.

When did they stop being babies that clung to me like little monkeys? Who authorized the use of a sports bra? Or gave them the self esteem to go and meet the new kids? Or choose carrots over pudding for their own lunches?? Why am I the only one in a panic over the fact my cherubic babies are now cool little individuals with MP3 players and day planners? Shouldn’t mothers have the ability to stop time? HECK…we can do practically everything else!!

My emotions twist and turn as I walk out of the school. The house is empty. Quiet. 6 hours stretches before me like a menacing bogeyman. What will I do?

I do what any normal psychotic mother would do. I lay curled up in the fetal position for 2 hours then force myself out of bed to make my miniature grown-ups some chocolate chip muffins.


“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” ~Elizabeth Stone

Fairytales!

Something very exciting happened on Friday.

Most of you probably think that me and my friends are boring and non-exciting parents who don’t let their children drink pop after 4 p.m. (oh wait, that’s just me)

But on Friday, with stone-cold, blind, excitement and a whole 24 hours of planning….2 of our communal children (we share them all when we’re together)…

GOT MARRIED!!!!

Albeit a fake wedding, however, the most beautiful wedding I’ve ever been to.

We had a very small guest list, a pizza and trifle supper, and the most fun EVER!! I just know all y’all are gonna want in on OUR playdates from now on…let me tell you…it’s always like this with us!

And note, clearly I have missed my calling as an ordained justice of the peace. SKILLZ. I got me some.

Watch and enjoy!

All Foam, No Beer.

How to make the WORST salsa ever…

1. Pick 700 delicious roma tomatoes and spend 5 hours chopping them with a dull knife

2. Add all yer classic stuff like green peppers, onions, garlic, jalapenos, cayenne, sugar, salt, arsenic, blah, blah, blah….spend additional 5 hours chopping.

3. Boil and stir. Simmer and stir. FOREVER. (Or one hour.)

4. Get 5 canning jars ready with excitement and childish anticipation.

5. Dish out 1 and a half jars of salsa that ISN’T red and DOESN’T seal and cry over how little you got.

6. Don’t enjoy for spite.

Converting to Classy

I think it’s probably been well-established that I am no swanky-posh-elegant type of girl.

So when Barry and I went down to Minneapolis with friends this weekend, and stayed at the swankest hotel I’ve ever seen in my life…WELL.

I think I could change.

I can entirely get used to having to use a small ladder to climb upon a four poster bed with 500 pillows and fancy chocolates laid out for me each night upon my 50 pound robe.

I can also get used to laying in a granite tub that has a glass TV encased right in front of me. Hehe…and the blow dryer wasn’t even attached to the wall!

I fell in instant love with the top-hatted doorman who reminded me of Mr. Peanut. I especially liked putting my vehicle in valet parking. (Not a fan of tipping every time they open a door, say good morning, or freakin' cover your mouth if you sneeze…k. I kid. A little.)

Just so all y’all know…it was a crazy cheap deal on the room, but they get you with stuff like that NINE DOLLAR bottle of water that you’re so tempted to crack open in the room. And let me tell ya, I WAS tempted. I figgered it had to be laced with anti-wrinkle serum or some other magical youth concoctions, but don’t panic, internets…I let my good sense prevail. (And my hubby’s.)

Anyhoo. FABULOUS TRIP. FABULOUS COMPANY. FABULOUS SHOPPING. I’ll post photos of the UFC event we attended as soon as I can.