Thursday, October 27, 2011

Chapped Lips & a Perm

I am now officially a hockey mom.  This is my 7 year old son's third year in hockey but this is his first year where he actually gets to play games, for points, where someone notices who's won and who's lost.  It is a big deal.

It is a big deal for most of these little boys who have been practising and learning to skate for at least two to three years prior to their first real game.  Further to that, it's a big deal for their mothers.  A bigger deal than I might have imagined.  A bigger deal than I might think is normal or within the realm of common sense and decency.

I don't think I'm cut out to be a hockey mom.  I like hockey.  I like my children.  You would think, therefore, there wouldn't be a problem.  Wrong.  See I generally am not a fan of small talk.  I also am not a fan of those who 'put on airs'.  I am not a fan of women.  Don't get your panties in a bunch.  I have some really good female friends.  Oddly enough though, the three women I have at sometime or now still do consider my best friends, are women who generally get along better with men than women.  My best friend ladies swear.  They are direct.  They are intelligent.  They, I am quite certain, know the measure of importance that should be allotted to a Novice 'B' hockey game.  For those of you unfamiliar with hockey, the Novice division is for 7 year old children.

7 Years Old.

This is important to remember for a number of reasons.  Some of these children, it could be argued, are playing hockey because their parents want them too.  Some of these children are playing hockey because they love it and have dreams of the NHL.  Some of these children are playing because it's fun.

I do believe their mothers fall in the same category.  I am not intentionally picking on moms.  They are just who I'm spending time in the stands with at the rink.  I have heard horror stories about the dads too and I'm sure in the years to come I will have those observations to share as well.

Some of the moms have encouraged their sons to play hockey because they love hockey or their husband loves hockey or because it's just what boys (in Canada, at least) are supposed to do.  Some of the moms are supporting their sons playing hockey because their child loves it and is having fun.  Some of the moms are supporting their children playing hockey because it apparently, in some way or another, defines who they are as a woman, a mother and human being.

These are the women I take issue with. The woman who sat in the stands at the very first game last weekend and literally screamed at her seven year old child and his team.   She didn't scream anything that warranted intervention but one could surmise it was fairly intense and unnecessary at this level (or any for that matter) of hockey.  And one other woman did surmise this.  How she found the time to come to this realization is beyond me as she spends the better part of her time at the rink applying lip balm.  It comes in handy when you kiss as much coordinator ass as she does.  That being said, she did notice and instead of moving or choosing to ignore immature behaviour, she told this woman to "Shut up!"  Apparently this was not well received.


I have a long road ahead of me folks.  Which is good for you because I don't foresee running out of material anytime soon.  Reese is only 7.   There is a lot of hockey ahead and he loves it.  Rhett is 4 and wants nothing more than to be like his brother, so yes, more hockey.  More lunatics.  More perms.

I fear I will not make a lot of new friends.  I fear I will end up a permed screaming lunatic with chapped lips if I am not careful and do not plan accordingly.

So here it is, I will maintain friendships outside of the rink, I will have hobbies, read the paper and watch TV.  I will ask my hairdresser to sign a contract with me vowing never to perm my hair never mind how much I beg (wash and wear would be such a breeze with early ice times though...).  I will save my screaming for adult sports events.  I have yet to kiss ass and really don't think the rink is the place to start.  What if my lips get frozen to coordinator ass?!  It's a risk I just can't take.

All I ask from you is if you see my slipping, if you notice a change in behaviour wherein I simper in front of hockey 'royalty' (read: coaches, coordinators and whoever else could be deemed as all powerful by the Hockey Gods) or I suddenly don mom jeans and blue shadow, step in, please.

I mean, I need to stay in top form for at least the next ten years and then I will be all set for our first NHL draft.

Monday, October 17, 2011


I need to be in a good mood.  I have phone calls to make and aside from that, if I injure one of our dogs, on purpose, people will frown upon that.

What did the dogs do?


Neither did the kids but they are in harms way too.  As in anyone who takes offence to "colourful" language because if it gets anymore colourful around here I'm going to start puking rainbows.

You guessed it, I have been possessed by hormonal fluctuations turning me from my usual feisty self to a something a little more akin to murderous/dangerous rather than "spirited".

The day started out okay.  I went to Costco and walked away from some snowman solar lights.  I carried them around for awhile but then used self-control and walked away.

This has nothing to do with the fact that I can go there again tomorrow, if I want, and buy them.  Nor does it have anything to do with the fact that I didn't get a cart and had to set the lights down so I could carry a flat of water.

Nothing at all.

Then I had Wendy's for lunch because there is not enough salt in the free world right now and Wendy's fries are de-lic-ious.

Then I was on time for a workshop I attended this afternoon.  It was held in a very nice boardroom with an educated intelligent woman at the helm.  It was useful information and fed into the small longing I have, at times, to still be a part of the "professional" world.  Not that I am not part of it now but given I work from my home and clean up cat vomit and occasionally have to wipe an ass other than my own, this was a real treat.

The commute home began the downhill trend.  I had to pee.  A lot but was much later than usual picking up my boys and my husband was working and so I was trying to hurry home...

oh wait, my 7 year old just spotted the "B"s my four year old decorated our off white couch with this weekend.  The four year old immediately owned up to in the sense that apparently it was an "accident".  There are roughly four "B"s, an "R" and some other random scribbles.  Big accident.

Anyway, my bladder was ready to burst and my left eye was under assault from my contact lens and the sun was in my eyes and it all. sucked. a. lot.

Then we came home to feed the four ravenous animals awaiting us and then the kids.  Then listen to arguing over who got more or better treats after supper.  I luckily was awarded a free box of Halloween candy for spending an exorbitant amount of money on groceries on the weekend so after supper each boy got three treats.  Except Reese got a peanut butter cup and Rhett didn't.  Rhett chose different treats but lost his freaking mind when he realized he hadn't gotten a peanut butter cup.  I did not give him one but chose to deal with this by having my own three (seven) treats.

My lamp died on my desk, I forgot to send back a skating permission form and the teacher put a note in my son's agenda and I NEVER forget stuff like that and my work area is cluttered and crowded and so after searching the house for a working lamp and bulb, I decided I best cope with the clutter and disorganization by writing this post.

And you know what? I feel better.

Not as good as I will feel after having few (the rest of the box) more treats, but better all the same.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Assholes & Cowards

I guess somewhere along the way I missed a memo.  You know, the one that says adults should bully one another in the wake of someone else's passing.  The one that said e-mail is an effective form of said bullying with Facebook being a close second.  You see I thought this sort of behaviour only existed among the pre-teen and teenager crowd.  Little did I know it's a new phenomenon among the Baby Boomer set.

My uncle passed away last month.  For those of you who follow along, you know this.  I spoke at his funeral.  I wrote a eulogy and shared it.  In said eulogy I spoke of his generosity, kindness, coolness, sense of humour, and maybe most importantly at present, his non-judgemental demeanour.

See some of these people he treated with such kindness and tolerance and not to mention generosity of the grandest kind, have chosen to act like complete assholes since his passing and in direct relation to his passing. They have chosen to bully.

They are not bullying me.  Nope.  And I'm not sure if it's because I'm still viewed as a child by these people who've known me since I was a child or if it's because I'm not an easy target.  Or at least not viewed as such.  

I would actually prefer if these cowards directed their dick-less sentiments towards myself as I am more equipped and prepared to deal with them than others.  I don't like it.  I don't like shaking and then weeping from anger.  I don't like feeling like my life was sort of settling down and back under control only to have to manage another shit storm, but I will do it.  I will do it because nobody deserves to be bullied.  

I will do it because I can.

I will do it because I want to. 

I will do it because there are far too many people on this Godforsaken planet that think it's okay to victimize, bully and disrespect rather than engage in open discussion, respect and tolerance.  They would rather judge without knowing.  Blame without thinking.  Hurt without caring.

Even though it is no longer my profession to protect vulnerable individuals, I will continue to do so as long as I'm able.  Should those individuals be related to me, expect me to come at you with force.

My son recently wrote an assignment for English where he likened me to a mother lion.  It made me laugh at the time but there is truth in that.  I will go to great lengths to protect and defend my own and anyone who chooses to willfully and knowingly hurt them, physically or emotionally, will not go uncorrected.

My uncle, as I said, was kind, generous, patient and without judgement.  

I am kind, generous and without judgement in the grand scheme of things.  I am not patient.  I am not tolerant of assholes but more importantly, I am not tolerant of cowardice and lately, I am faced with both of these attributes much more than I might have ever imagined.  At least among the supposedly educated, spiritual and mature individuals presenting in this manner.

It is exhausting, disappointing and frustrating but then again, so are assholes and cowards.