It seems all my posts this week are going to be inspired by events over the long weekend. Today is no exception.
Sunday, I gave H my Valentine's Day gift to him - tickets to the Rangers/Flyers game at Madison Square Garden*. H almost also received a quick blow to the head when he asked, "Oh, is W (childhood friend) coming with me? Is that why you asked me for his cell number last week?" Um, no, idiot, that was for help with the DVD player. I, the mother of your children, who used to go to games with you before you got me knocked up three times, am going with you.
I bought the tickets on StubHub and even after checking the MSG map repeatedly, I had no idea if they were good seats or not. The "handicapped accessible" seemed promising though, as perhaps they had extra leg room. We arrive at The Garden, find our seats and, there's extra legroom, alright. You know those folding chairs they put right behind the rail at the top of each section? Those were our seats. As and added bonus, ours were literally right in front of the concession stand. I started panic sweating, envisioning the fight I would inevitably get in when some Ranger-jersey-wearing skank in gold lame Uggs and giant hoop earrings pushed up against my back holding two very full souvenir cups of Coors light precariously over my head screaming, "LET'S GO RANGERS!".** (Can we all just agree, ladies, that wearing a sports jersey is just so very unflattering after the age of thirty? If you are so in love with a team that you simply can not attend a game without one, can we at least set some ground rules? You can not wear a jersey and heels. You can not wear a jersey and carry a giant, glittery purse. At least try to look sporty.) Anyway, the seats wound up being pretty great, actually. The beer line never got too long and since I was the one getting up to get H beers***, waiting in that line, it was nice not to have to brave the crowd to try and get a full cup back to him.
During the game, I realized I had forgotten how much I like hockey. Sports hold very little interest to me, but doing anything without the kids is fun, especially if beer and hot dogs are involved, so I go when the opportunity presents itself. When I am at a hockey game though, I actually watch. Hockey is so vastly superior to other sports in so many ways, I'm surprised more people aren't into it like football (or as my brohter in-law calls it, Football: The Worst Show Ever).
You have go to love that it's indoors. How can you beat that? It's hard to look cute when you're getting skin cancer at a Yankee game, or freezing to death at Giants stadium. I'd say hockey is the perfect date sport (yeah, yeah basketball, I hear you. You're OK too) since you have to wear a few layers ,but not too many that you look like Randy from A Christmas Story.
Another thing I love about hockey is play is pretty much non-stop. Football makes me want to pull out my own finger nails with all the waiting between plays. It's a game people, not Operation Desert Storm, throw the damn ball and run. As a child, watching the clock tick down on a Sunday Jets or Giants game, desperate to watch anything other than football on my family's one television, only to have the clock stop for the tenth time in five minutes nearly drove me to insanity. A hockey game is three quick periods with minimal breaks in between. Half-time show? I love when The Rangers have Pee Wee teams play between periods, with their giant helmets and little bodies, they look like live bobble-head dolls, but they play for all of five minutes, the Zamboni (which I am desperate to drive) cleans the ice and it's game on. This proves, in my opinion, what great athletes hockey players are. Did you enjoy your little rest Mr. Quarterback? Did you get a nap in?
And speaking of athleticism, I think hockey players are the most skilled professional athletes out there. They are playing a game, while doing something considered a difficult sport on its own - ice skating. How about basketball on a pogo stick, or football on a unicycle? Anyone can run in all different directions, try skating backwards while trying to handle a puck.
It's not just the game, but the culture of hockey that I love. Most of the players are shy, farm boys from the snow-bound states, Canada, or Russia. They don't take themselves too seriously. I haven't heard of any side-line reporter scandals in the NHL, have you? To my knowledge, no one in the league has recently shot himself accidentally in a night club. OK, I'll say what you're thinking. If hockey is such an innocent sport, then why are so many players missing teeth? Yes, hockey is the one sport other than, you know, boxing, where fighting is encouraged. While, technically, the NHL has tried to crack down on the brawls, it can not be prevented. Hockey without fights is like football without obnoxious end zone dances - something we know is wrong, but secretly enjoy.
Perhaps my perspective is a bit skewed since H actually plays hockey. In fact, I had never watched a game until I went to a college with a great hockey team and too many intramural teams to count (even my sorority had one, which was really just a bunch of us holding on to the boards with sticks in our free hand while the other team kicked our asses). H still laughs remembering my comment during one of my first games, "Aw, isn't that denfenseman nice, giving his stick to the forward after his just broke?" I guess that's what they're taught to do or something. However, the effect of H in his goalie pads can not be discounted from our budding romance. I still sort of have a thing for it, and if they didn't smell like a dead body, they would definitely be making an appearance in our amorous activities. Fantasies aside, hockey is part of the culture in our house. We quote Slap Shot a little too often (see the title of this post) and H is over the moon about the fact that #1 has finally, finally learned to ice skate so we can get a stick in her hands. She has a leg up, grow up with a dad who can skate backwards, but having given her my eye-hand coordination, I am a little doubtful. Our only other hope is Little Man, since #2 cries when she sees the ice.
Even if none of them wind up playing, hockey will be a big part of their lives. H was just contemplating whether they were too young to watch Miracle, the movie about the 1980 Olympic gold medal hockey team - the drunken tomfoolery in several scenes earned it a big "no" from me. I do hope H continues to play long enough for his kids to see a game (considering the adult leagues play way after their bedtime, that is a long ways off). If that is the case, his pads are so old and disgusting he might need to buy a new set. Hmmm. Those might come in handy before their first use....
*Odd sidebar - we ran into the monk who married us on the street after the game. Weird
**This description is based on an actual woman sitting three rows in front of us.
***Can we say "best wife ever"? When H asked why I was being to so nice to him, other than the fact that I love him and the poor guy rarely gets to see live sporting events, I reminded him my interest in the game could in no way match his and if we were to ever go see, say, Sex and the City Live, I'd expect him to wait in line for champagne as payback.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Everything I needed to know, I knew in third grade...
During the long weekend, which only made me wish for summer more, having all the kids home, H and I sat down to have a movie night with the girls. We have them including Little Man too, but rather than sitting on the couch snuggled together, it becomes a scream-fest involving repeated shouting of, "SIT DOWN, LM!" and the girls whining, "Can you get him out of the way of the TV?".
We sat down to watch The Bridge to Terabithia, breaking my read-it-before-you-see-it rule, which would have come in really handy, since never having read the book myself, I didn't know one of the main characters dies in the middle of the movie causing me to mouth to H, over the girls' heads, "What the fuck?". Waterworks, aka as #1, handled it well though, unlike Toy Story 3, which has been banned in our house since we saw it this summer. And while it did teach me to read the preview in its entirety before watching a movie with your children, what I came away with was a vow to be more of my nine year-old self.
For my male readers, or for those of you not fortunate enought to have a girl in the eight to twelve year-old range in your lives, this time is probably the best in a girl's life. The early childhood years are behind her and she has mastered the basics that once held her back - reading, riding a bike, jigsaw puzzles with more than twelve pieces. She is reading books that expose her to knew ideas and she is coming up with a few of her own. Everything she does she does with gusto, becoming fuly obsessed with horses, writing, or drawing.
The world is the nine year-old's oyster. She can be anything she wants to be. My oldest currently wants to be a teacher and a vet on the weekends. And also, a mom, which I am glad she lists as an occupation. Nothing is impossible. She has not yet learned about compromise and sacrifice for the sake of others, which seems to come with territory of womanhood.
The nine year-old's body is a strong powerful tool to get her around the world she is ready to conquer. No longer held back by the unsure steps of a pre-schooler, she runs with abandon, feeling her heart pound just for the sheer joy of it, as coltish as the horses most of them so dearly love. Her body hasn't yet become something to change and shape and mold, wishing parts bigger and smaller as the case may be. Her body is to be lived in, not to be looked at.
I look at my daughter and I want for her to keep growing and learning, but in so many ways I wish she could stay just as she is right now. In many ways, she is wiser than I. Her passions drive her and each day is an adventure. She is confident in her being, not questioning her choices or what she is doing. She is just fine the way she is. And then, in the blink of an eye, it can all change.
So this week I have tried my best to put the Swiffer away and write - and not feel guilty about it. Rather than sprint intervals, I ran at whatever pace felt good this morning, listening to music that made me smile. Which included Lady Gaga's new single "Born This Way". You could almost see a nine year-old writing these lyrics, "I'm beautiful in my way, 'Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track baby, I was born this way."
Most of us women start out as strong, confident little girls, who are excited to take over the world. She's still in there if you look. Wouldn't be amazing if you let her out?
We sat down to watch The Bridge to Terabithia, breaking my read-it-before-you-see-it rule, which would have come in really handy, since never having read the book myself, I didn't know one of the main characters dies in the middle of the movie causing me to mouth to H, over the girls' heads, "What the fuck?". Waterworks, aka as #1, handled it well though, unlike Toy Story 3, which has been banned in our house since we saw it this summer. And while it did teach me to read the preview in its entirety before watching a movie with your children, what I came away with was a vow to be more of my nine year-old self.
For my male readers, or for those of you not fortunate enought to have a girl in the eight to twelve year-old range in your lives, this time is probably the best in a girl's life. The early childhood years are behind her and she has mastered the basics that once held her back - reading, riding a bike, jigsaw puzzles with more than twelve pieces. She is reading books that expose her to knew ideas and she is coming up with a few of her own. Everything she does she does with gusto, becoming fuly obsessed with horses, writing, or drawing.
The world is the nine year-old's oyster. She can be anything she wants to be. My oldest currently wants to be a teacher and a vet on the weekends. And also, a mom, which I am glad she lists as an occupation. Nothing is impossible. She has not yet learned about compromise and sacrifice for the sake of others, which seems to come with territory of womanhood.
The nine year-old's body is a strong powerful tool to get her around the world she is ready to conquer. No longer held back by the unsure steps of a pre-schooler, she runs with abandon, feeling her heart pound just for the sheer joy of it, as coltish as the horses most of them so dearly love. Her body hasn't yet become something to change and shape and mold, wishing parts bigger and smaller as the case may be. Her body is to be lived in, not to be looked at.
I look at my daughter and I want for her to keep growing and learning, but in so many ways I wish she could stay just as she is right now. In many ways, she is wiser than I. Her passions drive her and each day is an adventure. She is confident in her being, not questioning her choices or what she is doing. She is just fine the way she is. And then, in the blink of an eye, it can all change.
So this week I have tried my best to put the Swiffer away and write - and not feel guilty about it. Rather than sprint intervals, I ran at whatever pace felt good this morning, listening to music that made me smile. Which included Lady Gaga's new single "Born This Way". You could almost see a nine year-old writing these lyrics, "I'm beautiful in my way, 'Cause God makes no mistakes, I'm on the right track baby, I was born this way."
Most of us women start out as strong, confident little girls, who are excited to take over the world. She's still in there if you look. Wouldn't be amazing if you let her out?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The best-laid plans
"OK, so I take #2 to gymnastics at 9:00, you drop Little Man of there with me at 9:50, leave the van and take the Jetta, then get #1 to ice skating at 10:30. We'll all meet back at the house at 12:00 for lunch. Then LM has a birthday party from 1:00 to 2:30. I'll go there while you take the girls grocery shopping for the dinner party."
This is an example of the conversation H and I have almost every non-summer Friday, planning the suburban assault that is Saturday. He hates it, and after a playful slap to the back of the head (I didn't hit you that hard, crybaby) has learned to keep his mouth shut about it, as without this level of preplanning, with three kids, we would get absolutely nothing done.
One particular Saturday, we were trying to go to local aquarium, where during the winter months, if you do not beat the crowd, you will spend the vast majority of your morning stuck behind a stroller parade of screaming children with no hope of getting close to the glass for the seal feeding. H and I had discussed departure time the night before, ensuring our early arrival, yet he was still lallygagging around, with me by the front door screeching, "Where is everybody???", since I am the only one who realizes teleportation has not been perfected yet and we actually need to leave on time. We all get in the car, H and I in various states of annoyance with each other, when he says, "You really need to relax."
Ensue whisper fight, where we speak low enough for our voices to be camouflaged by the sounds from the DVD player*. H asserts I make everyone miserable trying to stick to a schedule. I assert he has no idea what it take to plan a successful trip for five people and maybe he'd enjoy standing in line all day with the rest of the slackers who can't get their shit together and get on the road. He says, "Just admit it. You're high-strung and sometimes it's tough to deal with." My response? "I will admit nothing except I am awesome and I get stuff done!" At which point we both laugh and the fight is over.
I did wind up apologizing for being a harpy, and H apologized, saying he realizes my plans do always result in our being head of the crowd and having a more pleasant day, but this argument is an example of how those of us who plan are looked down upon by society. The "cool" way to be is laid back and fun. Schedules are for nerds. Don't be so uptight. Meditate. Be in the moment. Oh, really? Being ahead of the moment got us fed and into the first meet-and-greet with Rapunzel at Disney, instead of having to wait for forty minutes like The Get-Up-Latersons whose kids are now whining for breakfast. Getting places, like the aquarium, early, ensures we sail through the food line and are already leaving the cafeteria, when the masses get there for lunch at 12:30, instead of waiting in line with three starving, and subsequently decreasingly patient, children.** Sure, I'd like to take each day as it comes and not have to think, but things take time, exponentially more when you involve kids, and if nobody is charting the course, the boat's going nowhere.
It's not just life with kids that needs to be planned. Almost everything in life works better with some planning - big and little. Guess what? More people can come to your party if you get your invites out in a timely fashion! You might get good seats to that concert if you get up early the day they go on sale! Wanna buy a house someday? Money doesn't fall out of the sky. Stop buying designer bags you can't afford and going out to dinner and start putting some green in the bank.***
I know I sound angry, and it's because I am. Planning makes life smoother and everyone more comfortable. Did D-Day just happen? Look at New York City as a, literal, concrete example. Ever try to drive downtown? It's like being Mr. Magoo. Once they discovered urban planning? The lovely grid system. I realize I could take it down a notch (or ten), and not everything in life can be planned for. That was a super-fun thirteen months, trying to get pregnant with #1. Over-planned sex? Not hot.
I am here to say, planners everywhere, you are awesome! You get shit done! You might aggravate the hell out of your loved ones, but they'll thank you later. And as for your famous quote Mr. Lennon, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans"? Life doesn't happen unless you make some plans.
*The car trip to the aquarium would be more than the, agreed-upon, hour and a half required for DVD use since I figure a kid can just stare out the window and be with her own thoughts for that long, or invent some dumb backseat game with her siblings. You should see #1 time it just to be sure when I say someplace is too close to watch a movie.
**Never mind their father, who often forgets to eat himself before he leaves the house. I now carry emergency cheese sticks.
***That message is to H and I in our 20's. Idiots. One time in my life I didn't plan.
This is an example of the conversation H and I have almost every non-summer Friday, planning the suburban assault that is Saturday. He hates it, and after a playful slap to the back of the head (I didn't hit you that hard, crybaby) has learned to keep his mouth shut about it, as without this level of preplanning, with three kids, we would get absolutely nothing done.
One particular Saturday, we were trying to go to local aquarium, where during the winter months, if you do not beat the crowd, you will spend the vast majority of your morning stuck behind a stroller parade of screaming children with no hope of getting close to the glass for the seal feeding. H and I had discussed departure time the night before, ensuring our early arrival, yet he was still lallygagging around, with me by the front door screeching, "Where is everybody???", since I am the only one who realizes teleportation has not been perfected yet and we actually need to leave on time. We all get in the car, H and I in various states of annoyance with each other, when he says, "You really need to relax."
Ensue whisper fight, where we speak low enough for our voices to be camouflaged by the sounds from the DVD player*. H asserts I make everyone miserable trying to stick to a schedule. I assert he has no idea what it take to plan a successful trip for five people and maybe he'd enjoy standing in line all day with the rest of the slackers who can't get their shit together and get on the road. He says, "Just admit it. You're high-strung and sometimes it's tough to deal with." My response? "I will admit nothing except I am awesome and I get stuff done!" At which point we both laugh and the fight is over.
I did wind up apologizing for being a harpy, and H apologized, saying he realizes my plans do always result in our being head of the crowd and having a more pleasant day, but this argument is an example of how those of us who plan are looked down upon by society. The "cool" way to be is laid back and fun. Schedules are for nerds. Don't be so uptight. Meditate. Be in the moment. Oh, really? Being ahead of the moment got us fed and into the first meet-and-greet with Rapunzel at Disney, instead of having to wait for forty minutes like The Get-Up-Latersons whose kids are now whining for breakfast. Getting places, like the aquarium, early, ensures we sail through the food line and are already leaving the cafeteria, when the masses get there for lunch at 12:30, instead of waiting in line with three starving, and subsequently decreasingly patient, children.** Sure, I'd like to take each day as it comes and not have to think, but things take time, exponentially more when you involve kids, and if nobody is charting the course, the boat's going nowhere.
It's not just life with kids that needs to be planned. Almost everything in life works better with some planning - big and little. Guess what? More people can come to your party if you get your invites out in a timely fashion! You might get good seats to that concert if you get up early the day they go on sale! Wanna buy a house someday? Money doesn't fall out of the sky. Stop buying designer bags you can't afford and going out to dinner and start putting some green in the bank.***
I know I sound angry, and it's because I am. Planning makes life smoother and everyone more comfortable. Did D-Day just happen? Look at New York City as a, literal, concrete example. Ever try to drive downtown? It's like being Mr. Magoo. Once they discovered urban planning? The lovely grid system. I realize I could take it down a notch (or ten), and not everything in life can be planned for. That was a super-fun thirteen months, trying to get pregnant with #1. Over-planned sex? Not hot.
I am here to say, planners everywhere, you are awesome! You get shit done! You might aggravate the hell out of your loved ones, but they'll thank you later. And as for your famous quote Mr. Lennon, "Life is what happens when you're making other plans"? Life doesn't happen unless you make some plans.
*The car trip to the aquarium would be more than the, agreed-upon, hour and a half required for DVD use since I figure a kid can just stare out the window and be with her own thoughts for that long, or invent some dumb backseat game with her siblings. You should see #1 time it just to be sure when I say someplace is too close to watch a movie.
**Never mind their father, who often forgets to eat himself before he leaves the house. I now carry emergency cheese sticks.
***That message is to H and I in our 20's. Idiots. One time in my life I didn't plan.
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