I have had it. I am completely fed up. March Break is now over and I am ready to call it quits. If that makes me sound like less than a totally committed hockey mom, then I will just take my multi-coloured team scarf and my noisemakers and go cry in the corner with my hockey blankey. Since the end of August, my husband and I have probably been to and from some hockey arena no less than 200 times. Though my daughter still has her play off games, both boys are all but golfing. While two of my kids will be playing spring 4-on-4 through June, the spring hockey season simply does not require the same commitment that the regular hockey season does.
Of course the main reason I am sick of hockey is that we have just returned from an outstanding March Break Caribbean cruise, sporting new tan lines and tacky t-shirts. Re-entering one of our many hockey arenas will be painful – almost as painful as making it past 4pm without a drink and having to wear shoes the whole day long! Instead of being greeted with sun, tropical breezes and steel drum Caribbean music, my senses will once again be assaulted with the smell of sweaty equipment and zamboni fumes. I’ll do just about anything for my kids, but after the vacation we’ve just had, I’m not sure I can summon the enthusiasm to finish it off – the hockey season that is – not the rum punch. I am tired of “the schedule” (the red-inked hockey times on our kitchen family calendar) dictating our very existence. I am fed up with family meals that require less than 30 minutes of preparation so they can be consumed in twelve. I am frustrated with postponing my Friday happy hour knowing I have to drive that evening. I am really sick of my long underwear and arena parka. Most of all, I just wish I was still laying on a beach in the Caribbean listening to the ocean waves rolling, the kids’ shrieking and someone offering me a Bahamamama. I’m telling you, my husband and I are so sick of ice surfaces we refused to enter the famous SVEDKA ice bar on board our cruise ship…. “Let me get this straight… you want me to PAY to go in there?” Not a chance. Just like a rink rat back home, this twig thin hostess could not guarantee that the ice bar here had not been spat on, barfed on or peed on.
In garages all over Canada, hockey moms are secretly doing a happy dance as their kids are eliminated from the playoffs and I don’t blame them. I’m just bitchy because I’m not one of them – yet.
It really is Better in the Bahamas…the ice glistens much nicer in my glass 🙂
A great link to another hockey mom story: