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Ceasefire!!

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That’s right, I said ceasefire!  Now that the kids’ hockey seasons are over, I can briefly back off firing on all cylinders.  Do you know how I know that the kids’ hockey season is over?  Well, in the last week alone -

I didn’t have to navigate my groceries into a car filled with hockey bags and water bottles. 

I ate dinner … sitting down. 

I actually cooked dinner, consulting Martha Stewart instead of Mr. Mozzarella.

I made a dinner reservation for 2 people instead of 40 people. 

I took my bottle of wine out of the refrigerator instead of a cooler.

There is a clean hockey blanket sitting on top of my dryer.

I did not launder a single piece of UnderArmor.

I watched a movie that does not star Don Cherry. 

I answered the door and the local gas station attendant was asking if I could come out to play.

I did not name a single one of the dust bunnies that have multiplied under my kitchen table. 

Not once did I make a pit-stop to the skate sharpener.  

I shaved my legs.

With three kids in hockey, August to April is indescribably busy. My non-hockey friends have all but left me for dead and the truth is I’ve had to check my own pulse once in a while just to be sure.  Some days I felt certain both the car and I were on autopilot.  During the hockey season, dinner party invitations are almost always declined unless I am confident the hostess wouldn’t mind either my husband or me showing up just as the food is being cleared from the table.  Our attendance at family gatherings is prioritized according to the scale of declining inheritance. 

Spring sports haven’t quite geared up which means I am between gigs. I feel like I’ve surfaced for air and am actually accomplishing more than just treading water. I feel like I’m surfing.  My husband asked the other night, “You’re going out again?!” and I answered, “Yes, again!”

Yes, I’m going “out” again, I am making an appearance at my book club, I am out running in the spring air and training for my May half marathon. We are going out to dinner parties, TOGETHER, and participating fully in these rare social events from cocktails through to dessert.

I am also staying “in” again.  I am reading, I am writing and I am sleeping. And I am ridding my home of a few unwanted dust bunnies.

Is this what a normal life feels like?

I know it’s shortlived, however.  I know this armistice is really just a tenuous treaty between me and iCal, who swings from ally to enemy on an almost daily basis.  Soon Spring will hit the fan and I’ll be chasing down stray pieces of soccer and baseball equipment and back to logging on the miles driving to various clubs and lessons.  Not like we do between August and April, though.  No.  Hockey season is a formidable beast… and this beast is now in hibernation.

Creases and wrinkles….

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The 2010-11 hockey season, now officially over, was continually pierced with apprehension and worry.  Not because the Sens and the Leafs struggle for a playoffs berth, much to absolutely no one’s surprise, did not happen. No, you see, though I have been a hockey mom for 11+ years, this was my first season as a hockey mom of three goalies.  Three goalies. I have lived under the same roof for 8 months now with three – 3 – goalies and one goalie dad.  While my kids were peppered with shots, I was peppered with stress. Who, out there, can top that? If I had a nickel for every time I heard “I could never be a goalie mom”, well, never mind; you get the idea.  I just smile as no witty reply comes to mind.   My kids’ time in the creases has aged me, added wrinkles and grey hairs.

Being a goalie in hockey is a position that often garners special attention.  Usually goalies are unique, sometimes peculiar people with even more peculiar superstitions bordering on OCD.  I hope my kids’ bias for the position is no reflection on how them and how we’ve raised them.  So as the season began late last year, I was the goalie’s mom:  one atom goalie and two bantam goalies.  There are a few things that I now know for sure.

This I know:  you can always pick out a goalie mom in the stands by her distinctive moves.  Before the game, I casually blend in with the other hockey parents, but once the puck drops and the game officially begins, the tell-tale “Goalie mom” signs begin to manifest themselves.  As the puck crosses the blue line, I am the one slowly starting to rock back and forth in goalie mom stupor.  I believe that if no one on the ice can do it, my sheer willpower will get that puck out of our zone.  Magically, as the puck is cleared, the trance-like swaying ceases and I can resume normal cheering for a goal.  If the puck fails to be cleared from our zone, I am the one with her hands in prayer position or covering her eyes while maintaining my bobbling.  Namaste, Namaste, om, om, om. If all else fails, a cheery  “Dammit, move the puck outta there!!!” is shouted unless I can’t because I am holding my breath.

This I know: a goalie mom had eyes on the back of her head.  I now possess amazing periphery vision because I’ve learned to catch the shots on net (i.e., on my child) from the corners of my eyes.  Doing so is a bit risky because you can’t admit that you missed the phenomenal save but the crushing disappointment of the goal is too difficult to endure.  This highly developed sense of vision comes in handy elsewhere in life as I effectively deny my daughter a cookie with the same eagle side eye I watch her denying her on-ice opponents.

This I know:  a goalie mom only pretends to have patience.  I am fully capable of projecting a false pretence of it.  The energy expended to exude patience and calm during a game gives way to a noticeable void of same said virtue elsewhere in my life.  The game, which has seen my blood pressure elevated to dangerous levels then plummet back to normal (normal?), has ended and the casual request for sustenance (or Slushie) can make me snap quicker than an Zdeno Chara slapshot.

This I know:  goalie moms limit eye contact.  Of course I know it’s a team sport and a team loss is rarely the sole fault of the goal tender, but the mistakes of a goalie are laid bare for all to witness.  On the other hand, I know when it’s a good game, my goalies are the superstars!  Good or bad game, the goalie is first to be congratulated or consoled and this goalie mom has learned to find a quiet corner of my own to which retreat.  Thankfully, as a den mom on my daughter’s team, it’s easy to pre-occupy myself as Equipment Manager of the goalie than indulge in post-game analysis. 

This I know:  goalie equipment is really heavy and really cumbersome.  Most other parents use hockey as a tool for teaching responsibility.  “It’s your equipment, you take it in … you look after it”.  The boys can manage, but I just can’t bring myself to make my daughter lift a 40lb bag of gear with her 62lb body.  Heck, she still fits securely into one of the side pouches.  Instead of resembling the romanticized gladiator some NHL commercials suggest of player equipment, my newest little goalie looks more like Ralphie’s little brother in A Christmas Story after his mom has dressed him for the cold walk to school. 

This I know: a goalie’s reflexes are fast! The only one in the family who has ever broken a glass or dish is me. All 3 of my kids can catch it before it hits the floor!

Seems my oldest is now ready to hang up his goalie pads, a position for which he’s managed to grab his share of attention these past five years.  I wonder if wrinkles and grey hairs are proportional to amount of games I watch as a goalie mom.  If so, I am in luck… I’ll only have two goalies for the 2011-12 hockey season … plus one player.

Such a SHAM!

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Late Sunday afternoon, I mournfully packed up after two weeks at the cottage.  Heavy heart?  Hmmmm, maybe just the newly formed lard ass I am lugging around now that the potato chips are gone.   I admit I am in the deep IMG_2566depths of post-vacation despair.  Seriously, it’s more like despondency.  I had the best vacation.  I hosted much of my family (some of them are still speaking to me), spent serious quality time with my husband and kids (who now think that midnight swims are normal behaviour), successfully (yes, please read:  successfully) water-skied for the first time in fifteen years (everyone was so stunned that mercifully no one took a picture), and tied for 1st Place for our family’s annual Loony Award (must complete daily dip in the lake by noon).  I read countless trashy magazines but also managed 2 serious books (Ernest Hemingway:  A Moveable Feast being one of my new favourites).  I recanted my grievance to Mother Nature as the thermometer hooked around the dock ladder showed the water temperature creeping past 82ºF.  With over 300 pictures, I can now gaze all day at the most unbelievable screen saver.  It’s time to give back to my community.  I’m starting a new support group:  SHAM:  Shrug Holiday Apathy and Melancholy.  United, we will find our way to prosperity and productivity once more … or perhaps another bag of potato chips.

Manotickians take Manhattan Part I…

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The big apple

On a cold and dreary January morning in 1986, I was dropped off at the 92nd Street “Y” on Lexington Avenue in New York City.  I was in my third year of university and about to start an internship in Human Resources with the Riese Organization.  A restaurant firm that owned and operated some 350 fast food and full service restaurants all over Manhattan, they were ahead of their time opening the first multi-outlet locations (the Taco Bell, Roy Rogers Chicken and Dunkin Donuts trio dotted many Manhattan corners at the time).

 

To say I was nervous would be a colossal understatement.  I moved my meager belongings (2 suitcases) into my 8th floor dorm room I would be sharing with my college friend Anne who was also doing an internship in New York.  Later that day, as I sat in a coffee shop eating my dinner of toast and coffee (more ample meals would have to wait until that first paycheque came in), I confessed to Anne that I thought maybe I’d made a mistake.  I wasn’t sure if I was up to living in Manhattan.  Not sure exactly she said but I think it was not much more than a shrug, accompanied with “Well, go home, then.”   I’m pretty sure she followed this quickly with giving New York a chance, the commitment I’d made to the Riese Organization, the credits and tuition money I might jeopardize and a litany of other perceptive and practical comments.

 

Of course, I did stay in New York for 8 months and quickly learning the ins and outs of the subway system, the bounteous salad bars at the corner grocer and a neat little pub on the Upper East Side that sold Rolling Rock beer for a buck.  I also found that there is nothing like a sunny Saturday afternoon in Central Park and that “Suggested Admission” means exactly that (thereafter I paid 50¢ each for numerous evening and weekend visits to the Met). 

 

I brought my husband-to-be to New York a few times.  He enjoyed all my old stompin’ grounds (especially that little tavern on Bleeker Street) as much as I and even took in a jog around the Reservoir.  This weekend will mark the first time I bring my three children to New York City with me.  I’m bound and determined to show them not just the touristy Times Square and Empire State Building New York, but some of the real pleasure of this extraordinary metropolis.

 

So start spreading the news, we’re leaving on Friday!

 

I’ve rented [what I hope will be] a cute two-bedroom apartment on West 58th near the Park for 5 nights.  I’ve got Yankee tickets in one hand and “New York City with Kids” guidebook in the other. I have a tentative itinerary set up that includes some old favourites (like the American Museum of Natural History, Rockefeller Center and the Bronx Zoo) but some interesting side trips I hope the kids will appreciate (St John the Devine Cathedral, the Lower East Side Tenement Museum, Statue Stalking in Central Park).  I think I even still have an old subway token kicking around (Oh, that’s right!  They don’t take tokens anymore).  Should we warn someone that we’re coming?

My investment advice has been taken seriously…

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What’s the silver bullet for me?!
I was reading the newspaper over coffee this morning and – there – on page A4 of the Ottawa Citizen –  is MY ARTICLE!  Well, okay, not my article exactly, but certainly very similar to one I wrote recently.  Shannon Proudfoot (nope, don’t know her) wrote an article on the “silver bullet for raising happy and health kids”.   If you haven’t already read it, take a look at my post from a couple of weeks ago called Your daily investment advice:  Have dinner with your family at  http://dustbunnychronicles.wordpress.com/2009/04/27/your-daily-investment-advicehave-dinner-with-your-family/.  I pitched this to several magazines and got rejected.  Yes I know, boo hoo.  I’ve also been trying to find Canadian content for this article for months and I guess Shannon beat me to the dinner table.  Dare to compare and let me know what you think!  Maybe that’s the silver bullet though.  I need to look for the Canuck Connection in everything and then pitch it.   Yet the idea was inspired by American based research, so why not give the credit where it is due?  Obviously it was necessary to ensure the same research held true on the Canadian population.  Apparently, it does.   Here’s Shannon’s article:  http://www.montrealgazette.com/Health/Want+your+children+happy+healthy+Have+supper+with+them/1583604/story.html

Your daily investment advice…Have dinner with your family

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dinner

Ok so I’m NOT having dinner with my family but I wish I was.  Bear with me – this blog entry is a work-in-progess.

 

The time famine is a modern day phrase social psychologists use to describe the on-the-go, activity-filled, duel-career lifestyle of today’s average family. We are literally starving for time.  How fitting then, to turn this phrase around and use it to suggest the best way to invest in your family: A moment to feast. Do you want to help ensure your kids are well adjusted, emotionally stable, and substance-free? Then, invite them to your dinner table.

 

My memories of mealtimes growing up were of formality, perfunctory etiquette and respectful manners.  We always lived in what can only be described as typical mill towns, but my mother rarely backed down on the rules of engagement at the dinner table.  Hands and face better be scrubbed clean by the time the silver dinner bell tinkled its call to the dining room table.  All four children sat in eager but subdued anticipation as my father served up a portion to each of us… youngest first.  Waste was not permitted but dessert was always served.  No one dared leave the dinner table until everyone had finished every morsel, only when permission was granted and with appropriate thanks to the chef.

 

Fast-forward 30 years and my own table resembles nothing close to this ritual.  First of all, I’m reasonably certain the last time we officially sat at our dining room table, was Christmas Eve – I kid you not.  The more commonly used kitchen table where my own three now sit (not all of them officially sit; my daughter leans back with both knees balanced precariously against the table) is a scene of semi-chaos with multiple unrelated coincident conversations.

 

Nevertheless, despite the dichotomy of these dinner traditions within my own life, they represent some tradition and still involve gathering as a family.  I am also vindicated knowing that there are now sufficient studies to support the fact that regular shared family meals can protect your kids against all types of destructive behaviour including drug and alcohol use, eating disorders, and support mental stability and overall well being. Consider the work of the Center for Addiction and Substance Abuse (CASA) at Columbia University. Founded in 1992 by Former U.S. Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare Joseph A. Califano, Jr., this nonprofit organization states that its mission is to “inform Americans of the economic and social costs of substance abuse and its impact on their lives, as well as, remove the stigma of substance abuse and replace shame and despair with hope.” In examining the underlying factors associated with adolescent destructive behaviours such as alcohol and drug use, their 1996 study of 1,200 teens revealed that the majority of those who refrain from drug and alcohol use and other adolescent misbehaviours participated in another shared a family event: they sat down with their families on a regular basis for mealtimes. To take their results even further, when it came to predicting kids’ behaviour, eating dinner with the family was ranked of higher importance than going to church or getting grades at school. Since then, CASA has repeated this study annually and the golden nugget still holds true. They now include a section on family time on their website. Called Family Day, it is a national initiative aimed at reminding parents “all your kids really want at the dinner table is you.”

In her book The Surprising Power of Family Meals (yes, I read it), author Miriam Wienstein goes even further. She examines the link between this important family ritual and emotional stability, self-esteem, eating disorders, obesity, and substance abuse as well. Her research suggests there is a huge payoff for families who regularly eat meals together in lower instances of smoking, drug use and teen pregnancy, better results at school, understanding family cultural values, lower instances of eating disorders such as anorexia nervosa and bulimia, improvement in vocabulary and conversational skills, stronger sense of resilience and just plain old good table manners.  Oh no!  Could mother have been right all along?

 

A family dinner satisfies two basic human needs: sustenance and human interaction. How easy it is to draw a link between our generation of convenience and individualism to increased incidences and earlier onset of substance abuse, eating disorders and depression in our teens.    We should all be reminded that making and sharing regular family meals is one of the simplest ways to promote a healthy quality of life…plain and simple.        

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