The Big and Small of Hockey

Coach and Riley. Big and small.


I don't want to be a hockey mom. I don't want to get in the car in the dark, drive on icy roads with one eye looking for an out-of-town arena and the other eye on the road, to then sit in a cold building for two and a half hours with people on either side of me blasting ear drum splitting horns reeking of cigarette smoke. With all due respect to hockey moms everywhere, of course. I'd rather be a soccer mom. Which, at its worst, means sitting in the pouring rain, eyes on the sky for lightening or ankles being eaten by mosquitoes. But mostly its spending the last hours of the day outside when the days are long and it feels like a blessing to be outside without multiple layers.

These days we are playing a tournament which means the nastier details of the above. To sound completely selfish, I want to spend a couple of days at home where we don't have any obligations to go anywhere. Where we can putz around with our stuff, watch too much t.v. and eat junk food. Hockey is an experiment this year and I'm secretly hoping the passion for it doesn't grow. Oh how awful of me, I know. But there it is, in all its naked honesty.