…started out with younger kid declaring that, well, she thought about it, and, she wasn’t going to go.
What’s a mum to do when she sees 2 days before her, no school, M.Ed coursework to do, martinis to drink, and no kids to pick up, cook for, bathe, or referee?
Well, she convinces her daughter that going to camp with her school is the best idea because staying at home will involve NO TV and NO playing with mum because she has work to do.
My own mother’s voice trickled through the air all the way from another province and into my head: “Never force them to go to camp! I was forced to go to camp, and look what happened to me.” It’s a good point. Unfortunately, the 2 days of freedom before me was so enticing, I started to empathize with my grandparents, who completely destroyed my mother’s ability to be within 15 feet of a canoe, paddle, outhouse or lifejacket by forcing her to go to camp year after year. Continue reading “The day the kids went to camp…”→
I am very sorry for your loss. It really could have gone either way, I’m sure. Tied in the last period, 7th game… really, it was just a stroke of bad luck. No one’s fault, least of all Carey’s. Or PK’s. Who was in nets again?
There were 4 people watching the game in my house yesterday as I read the Guardian cover to cover (for once! Ahhhhh!). Not a single face flinched, or grimaced, or scrunched when the goal was scored – in fact it was the stunned silence that made me look up. 4 pairs of wide eyes stared miserably at the snowy screen. Listening hard, I was able to discern from the commentators that Boston had scored and that the series was over. “ah well”, I thought, “puts ’em out of their misery. Better now than later”.
Perhaps your eye has already caught the glaring, treacherous lack of Habs apparel on the person represented here as “Holly”. Well – what can I do? For Christmas, P gave a Habs t-shirt to every member of my family, except for me. And that, my friends, is how I like it.
For years, I pretended to be into hockey like every good Canadian. After we won the Stanley Cup (18 years ago, on s’entend-tu?) I wanted to be at that crazy rally like every other Montrealer – but I was babysitting. Cause I was in grade 11. Since then you could say the flame has died down a little – to a lump of coal. Safe to go to bed, y’all, cause de fire, he’s out cold.
But it’s hard to NOT be a hockey fan during the playoffs. There are a LOT of games, and it goes on forever. The daffodils are blooming, the garden’s producing, the winter boots are in the basement, the bikes are on the road… and they’re STILL PLAYING HOCKEY. And everyone always wants to get together to watch the game. Well, I’ve had it. I’m no longer ashamed to admit that I don’t like watching hockey and I would much rather sit with y’all while you watch and I read. Or I’ll make you pizza. Or I’ll go to bed, if your kid’s not sleeping in there. Cause life’s too short to pretend to like hockey.
I hope that if you are struggling with this issue, that you, too, will find the strength within you to say “NO!” to pretending to like hockey. Call me up around 7 pm, I have time to talk!
Elsie is 9 months old today. She’s been out as long as she was in, which makes me think that she should be used to things on the outside by now. I guess it’s not her fault she spends her days bonking her head on the floor, table, fridge, her sister’s. She’s learning to walk, for crying out loud! (and she does!)
I don’t know if it’s spring, or what, but I am REALLY not into cooking and also not into writing – as you may have gathered. Tonight I “made” tortellini with pesto sauce and some chopped up cherry tomatoes in it. Not really one to write home about. I am experimenting with the ice cream maker a friend lent me but even that fails to get me psyched about spending time in the kitchen. I manage to produce sustenance for my family but that’s about the extent of it.
I do have a kick ass pear cake to share, but am just not into it. Oh, and I wanted to tell you about my friend Bri’s cupcakes and adventures, but she hasn’t sent me the recipe yet (for the cupcakes. I got my own recipe for adventure, but I forget what it is).
So friends, off I go to get depressed about my daughters’ pink futures and to get a few winks in before Elsie begins her 10th month with a hearty wail at 4:30am. Do stay tuned, who knows, I may come back again with another story for my sister – who doesn’t cook what I write about anyway, so what’s the difference!