This past weekend I had one of those wacked out “how the hell did I get here?” moments. I found myself deep in the bowels of the suburbs — i.e rinkside at the canlan hockey centre on a Saturday afternoon. In my head, I’m still a 26-year-old childess, jetta-driving, urban-dwelling, wine-swilling newleywed. The reality is somewhat different. Did you know, for instance, that it’s quite difficult to fit a rear-facing carseat in a jetta? And that’s just the beginning!
So, as the solidly not-jock-in-highschool that I am, I was looking around my new reality freaking out. While I was at it, I noticed a few things.
1. Hockey rinks are really, really cold.
2. Hockey moms are way hotter than I expected — not one of those moms with sans mascara, except me. Next week, I’m totally getting dressed up.
3. Hockey is expensive — both to play, and to equip. I don’t see how this is a doable dream for a lot of Canadian kids. Or do parents simply do without clothes so they can send their wee ones to hockey?
4. If I keep taking my daughters to Carson’s hockey things, they’ll become rink rats in a very short time. There’s just not much for them to do there but run around. I’m not sure I feel about that, I have a few negative rink rat associations in my brain. I either have to break those down or keep the girls home every other week, or something.
5. Pretty sure Peyton’s going to want to play hockey rather than do anything even remotely “girly”. That’s cool, I just might take a week or two to get over it. I’ve been so submerged in Charlotte’s girliness for so long that I might have to rewire my brain just slightly.
Meh, it is what it is I guess. The good news is my son seems to love hockey and he’s thrilled to go. The bad news is my son seems to love hockey and he’s thrilled to go…
Did I mention this weekend weirded me out.