By Jill Pertler
God could not be everywhere and therefore He made mothers.
~Jewish Proverb
I've never been much of a hockey fan. For someone living in northern Minnesota, this is a bold confession — not usually shouted from rooftops, but whispered discreetly on dark street corners.
God could not be everywhere and therefore He made mothers.
~Jewish Proverb
I've never been much of a hockey fan. For someone living in northern Minnesota, this is a bold confession — not usually shouted from rooftops, but whispered discreetly on dark street corners.
I'm not a winter person. The cold month of January is enough to get my long underwear in a bunch. The one thing worse than January is realizing I've still got February to endure — and everyone knows February is the longest month.
It's only logical — sitting in a cold, ice-filled arena didn't make my bucket list.
Life has a way of throwing us a flying puck every so often. I'm a mother to four kids. Two already play hockey and a third is on the horizon. Can you say icing?
Any parent will attest, once you have children, your life is no longer your own. You share it with your kids. This is why you became a parent. If your kids want to explore a certain hobby or sport, and it is in your means and interest to help them, you do so. Mine wanted to play hockey. Ambivalent or not, I was along for the ride.
During my son's first year of play, I had to help him suit up a couple of times. I couldn't believe the complexity of the garb. There were pads and socks and protectors all held together with white tape. There were funny looking pants called breezers. The helmet, in and of itself, was a sight to behold. I believe there were three or four snaps, a chin guard and a mouth guard attached with plastic.
It still astounds me: we suit our little ones up like this, put sharp steel blades on their feet, give them a long stick and say, "Go for it!" And they do. That's the amazing part. They do.
These little people, who can hardly stand up on skates at the beginning of the season, are able to skate fluidly a few months later. They learn the coordination of handling the stick and puck at the same time. They learn to skate as fast backward as they can forward. They learn to pass and dig and stay onside. They learn to rely not only on themselves, but their teammates and coach as well.
As important as anything else, they learn to enjoy our long, cold winter. And they help their moms do the same.
A few years ago, I entered the world of hockey as a novice. I've learned a lot since then, and am proud to say I no longer consider myself a total rookie. I understand my fair share about a world where Zamboni is king. I've learned to appreciate a perfect pass and a well-executed play. I've learned about breakaways, blue lines, high sticking, the five hole, icing, hat tricks, going top shelf and weekend jamborees.
I've learned the importance of thick socks and good boots. I've learned those hand warmer things really do work. I've learned hot cocoa tastes better when you're cold.
I've also learned that when my kids enjoy something thoroughly and entirely, it's hard for me not to feel the same way. I started out as an ambivalent parent, but that's changed. I have become a fan. I may not shout my sentiments from the rooftop, but I have been known to join the hockey moms in a team cheer. It's fun. And besides, the clapping and yelling helps keep the blood circulating to my extremities.
It's only logical — sitting in a cold, ice-filled arena didn't make my bucket list.
Life has a way of throwing us a flying puck every so often. I'm a mother to four kids. Two already play hockey and a third is on the horizon. Can you say icing?
Any parent will attest, once you have children, your life is no longer your own. You share it with your kids. This is why you became a parent. If your kids want to explore a certain hobby or sport, and it is in your means and interest to help them, you do so. Mine wanted to play hockey. Ambivalent or not, I was along for the ride.
During my son's first year of play, I had to help him suit up a couple of times. I couldn't believe the complexity of the garb. There were pads and socks and protectors all held together with white tape. There were funny looking pants called breezers. The helmet, in and of itself, was a sight to behold. I believe there were three or four snaps, a chin guard and a mouth guard attached with plastic.
It still astounds me: we suit our little ones up like this, put sharp steel blades on their feet, give them a long stick and say, "Go for it!" And they do. That's the amazing part. They do.
These little people, who can hardly stand up on skates at the beginning of the season, are able to skate fluidly a few months later. They learn the coordination of handling the stick and puck at the same time. They learn to skate as fast backward as they can forward. They learn to pass and dig and stay onside. They learn to rely not only on themselves, but their teammates and coach as well.
As important as anything else, they learn to enjoy our long, cold winter. And they help their moms do the same.
A few years ago, I entered the world of hockey as a novice. I've learned a lot since then, and am proud to say I no longer consider myself a total rookie. I understand my fair share about a world where Zamboni is king. I've learned to appreciate a perfect pass and a well-executed play. I've learned about breakaways, blue lines, high sticking, the five hole, icing, hat tricks, going top shelf and weekend jamborees.
I've learned the importance of thick socks and good boots. I've learned those hand warmer things really do work. I've learned hot cocoa tastes better when you're cold.
I've also learned that when my kids enjoy something thoroughly and entirely, it's hard for me not to feel the same way. I started out as an ambivalent parent, but that's changed. I have become a fan. I may not shout my sentiments from the rooftop, but I have been known to join the hockey moms in a team cheer. It's fun. And besides, the clapping and yelling helps keep the blood circulating to my extremities.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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