Needing to take a breather, we zipped up to Promises. My results were in and we were happily celebrating. It was instant decompression for me. I unlocked the door and it was like opening a mental soda bottle: "Pshhhhhht ....sigh. aaaah. Good stuff."
But I didn't just lie around and bask in mental peace and stress relief. Oh no.
We played a wicked game of Scattegories: a game where you list things (a professional athelete, furniture, a car, things you throw away...) but they must all begin with the same letter (determined by a die that is rolled) This you must do in a set amount of time. Half the fun is arguing your answers. I won. In fact, I spanked everyone at the table. Maddie was a close second, losing only by thirty-four. I'm actually surprised anyone would play with me.
There was the weather. I have to tell you that I had more children with me than degrees outside. Regardless, we bundled up and went down to the dock for a friendly game of hockey. Two words that don't usually coexists: friendly, hockey. No one is permanently damaged so let's call it a success.
I used to skate. Used to. I could do camels, and graceful little turns a few jumps; a wee bit of self-taught figure skating. Cute stuff when you're young. Now I look like a purple albatross trying to take off. I'm the worst one for "high sticking" but the only danger I pose is to myself. My kids think it's hilarious and if I were to show the footage, you'd all concur. But I'm stingy. Take my word for it. In the back of my mind, I'm Lil Dorothy Hamil in my pretty white skates. In reality I could be, only if she'd downed a litre of Petron, and had never skated before.
Then there's Cheech. Now HE used to play hockey, so I am envious of his grace and speed. He gets in there and gets all gritty. Whew! I LOVE it. But remember, I just choo-choo around the ice and say "shit" a lot.
But the kids are awesome. They zoom around and swipe the puck, stop it slap it across the lake and jet after it all while jumping and I swear SKIPPING across the glassy frozen tundra that is our lake...stupid kids. They call their own penalties and fix them before I get over there. I assume this is a time saving measure. In zero degree weather, every minute counts. Who the heck wants to wait on "Grimace" while she waddles and flaps over here? Hurry up!
"N!"
-click-
"H!"
-click-
"L!--GOOOOO!" While they speed by almost knocking their old mother down, I'm left going the wrong direction. Whippersnappers. That's what they are. Get me my Geritol and a Manhattan. I think I cracked my spine. My eyelashes hurt.
CRAAACK!"PENALTY SHOT!"
WHOOOOOSH. I'm almost spun around by the little monsters. NOW I have to turn around. Crap! Where's the damn puck?
*skritch...scoot...scriiitch....scoot* Almost...there...I can see the children now. Oh my eyes are watering and my nose is wet. "Hey! Wait for me...."my voice falters as I begin to waive furiously; not out of friendship either.
"Never mind Mom. We got it."
"Oh. Did I do it? I wasn't even near the puck."
"Uhhh Yeah. High sticking again."
"But I can't balance. The ref sucks."
"Mom. Maybe you should take a break or keep your stick down."
"Maybe you should be quiet or you're grounded."
"DAAAAAAAD!"
"Penalty shot."
stupid game.
So spending most of my time on the penalty dock or on my arse on the ice, I love this game and can't say enough nice things about it.
..... Scattegories anyone?
Hey, All. Hope you had a good weekend. I am tied up in two competitions and will (of course) try the verbal sampler platter here with you good people when they are finished. Thanks for stopping by. I enjoy your visits. Stay warm.
