Mites I - victory at last

 Our hockey player was once again in action today. She nearly had a goal, too. Oh, she was close. I swear these kids get better and better at skating with each practice and each game. Today she started turning with some sort of spin move. I couldn't duplicate it for you, but it sure does seem to work for her. Pretty soon she'll be doing triple Lutzes and wearing spandex on the ice. NOT. You're more likely to find her in Smartwools checking some poor kid into the boards. She plays hard and she plays for keeps. And this morning her team got a victory. Of course, they never really lose at this level. It's an opportunity for them to play and that seems to be enough.

As a parent of one of these dear hockey players, I had to sign up for a certain number of volunteer hours during the tournament. I chose something that sounded harmless enough, Chuck-a-puck. I knew it involved having people throw a puck out onto the ice at halftime (yes, three periods are reduced to two at this level) to land it as near as possible to the bucket at center ice. What I didn't realize is that it also involves selling the dumb things. I had to walk around with a five gallon bucket full of pucks during the first period asking people if they'd like to buy an opportunity to win some cash. It was horrible. I am the worst salesman in the history of the earth. Were it not for my family buying a very large quantity of pucks, I would've raised a total of $5 during this morning's game. Five dollars! The poor kid who bought those pucks with his $5 was named Broten, "Like Neal Broten of the 1980 Olympic Team," I asked, "Miracle On Ice?" No, he insisted, it was Broh-tan, not Broten. I promised I wouldn't reveal his secret relationship to a hockey celebrity if he bought more pucks. He didn't. But what he did do is chuck a puck that stopped dead against the bucket. The little twerp won. The twenty bucks we put in couldn't compete with his $5. He walked home with double his money and I was just happy to be done with that stupid task. Tomorrow it's concessions.

The third line on the attack

Nice form

First Hockey Tournament

 I. is participating in her first ever hockey tournament this weekend. In fact, tonight was her first hockey game. She did really well. (read as: she knocked the puck, and a few of the other kids, around.) Basically, the kids (5-7 yrs old) skate up and down the ice trying to dump the puck into an empty net. There is no checking allowed, but that doesn't keep bodies from piling up on the ice. Thankfully, nobody dropped their gloves to solve any issues. I NEVER would have thought that this little girl would choose hockey for her winter sport. But here she is, suited up and ready to go. Just like in soccer, she is transformed into a new creature on the ice. This child, cautious and reserved off the ice, becomes an attacker on the ice, throwing her body into the puck, against the boards, and in front of oncoming players. With all that heart, she plays well beyond her skill level.

Our new neighbors have three daughters who skate, two on hockey teams and one in figure skating. The youngest is on I's hockey team, Congdon Park. They are two peas in a pod. They both eschew the princess dresses for hockey jerseys or sweats and a t-shirt. And both play with reckless abandon. They have two more games this weekend. We'll keep you posted.

Hey, Hoser!

I am now a hockey dad. How do I know this? I just spent three hours laying down sheets of water from a fire hose on three hockey rinks on a 20° night. I joined three grizzled veterans for my hockey rink-prep education. They had me hauling the hose around the ice as we laid down smooth sheets of water and then let it freeze for twenty minutes, twenty minutes that we spent drinking Bud Light in the warming shack. I swear it was a moment straight out of Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion. Something had to be running at all times, either the water from the hose or the beer from the Bud Light can. They regaled me with stories of Duluth hockey in days of yore.

As it turns out, as a parent of a Mites 1 hockey player (our own little i.) I am responsible for four such shifts. I have to spend four nights hosing down the rinks to refresh the ice. I always thought the Zamboni just took care of it. Apparently not. Hockey parents do it all year long, every night. They even let me hold the hose tonight - me, a rookie! Actually, it wasn't the biggest honor since we were just laying down the bottom layers of the ice and so couldn't really screw things up. Still, it was fun. But standing on wet ice with a powerful hose spewing water at high pressure, well, you can imagine how well I fared. I got spun around more than once. My mentors were gracious enough to complement my effort. The night was all worth it, though, because aside from getting to meet some fun people, I learned the provenance of the term "hoser." Hoser, which you know if you've ever seen the movie Strange Brew, is roughly equivalent to "loser." In fact, that's exactly what it means because traditionally in hockey played outdoors the losing team had to hose down the ice. I now understand why they drink so much beer in Canada. You have to pass the time somehow waiting for the water to freeze.

Happy Birthday

to the classiest, most beautiful woman I know

An Infographic is Worth A Thousand Words

Some pretty cool shots of the earth at night from space. A whole different perspective on the northern lights.
Earth | Time Lapse View from Space, Fly Over | NASA, ISS from Michael König on Vimeo.

Jersey (fo') Shore

This is what a jersey culture has wrought in this house - family time. 

 

Playing the game.

And finally watching the game.

3 Years Orange

Somebody turned three today. He's been very excited about this day for some time. We've been counting down since October. We don't have the energy to do themed parties like my sister-who-shall-remain-nameless. So we opted instead for his favorite color - Orange. I think this may be a trend in our family. Our parents' generation had golden birthdays and such. We're going to go for colored birthdays. "Ah yes," our kids will recall, "that was the orange birthday. Or no wait, perhaps it was the purple one." Some kids turn three. This one is turning orange.

And a special shout out to grand-mère and grandpa H who sent the Wild jersey. With the Vikings' jersey he got from grandpa R and grandma M, he's about set for team apparel. As much as we don't like the big merchandise machine, it sure is cute on him. It's up to him to bug Farmor for a Red Sox jersey.

Trick or Treat

The Tailgaters

Football as Teacher

O has just finished his first season of flag football. He loved it. He loves the structure of the playbook and the fact that one has to follow rules. In the last game of the season he caught a tipped ball, proof to his structured mind that even chaos can lead to glory. Just another one of life's lessons learned on the grid iron.

A Whole New World

When in Rome...

(the season starts soon)

Twas the Season

What starts in a swarm of mosquitoes and finishes with earmuffs and gloves? Soccer in Duluth.

Balmy Weekend

The thoughtful athlete

The dirty athlete

The exuberant athlete

Our Soccer Prodigy

Our soccer prodigy averaged over three goals per game. Of course, it helps that there's no goalie at this age. She LOVES the beautiful game.

Toronto

Our recent trip to Boston involved a three-day drive that took us on a detour to visit Toronto.We'd never been before and were delighted by the city. We took in the city island and the science museum and from all accounts, both were quite impressive.

Toronto 2011

Mosquito Haven

We came back to Duluth in time for an explosion of mosquitos. I think I would have preferred the earthquake out east to these blood thirsty critters.

Dinner Theater

In July while sister A and her brood were still here we invited the kids to write a play and perform it by the weekend. The eldest took the task seriously and set about writing the script while assigning roles to the other kids. Auntie E took the girls to pick out fabric for costumes. The boys worked on the set and props. Performance day arrived and all the kids rehearsed while we prepped for the soirée. After eating our big meal, the kids handed out programs for the play and invited us to come out front and find our seat. The curtain opened and the play began. It was a fifteen minute tale of good vs evil in which good ultimately triumphs. A noble and uplifting script that would have moved even the harshest critic. "A soaring tale... and inspiring story," wrote the Duluth News Tribune. Indeed, the writer and director received her due praise at the end. We are very much looking forward to next year's performance.

The writer/director

Mid performance

Receiving their much-deserved applause

The cast

The rapt audience

A Personality Well Expressed

Admit it, you want "what he's having."

Remember when life was as simple as velcro shoes, blue camo shorts, dark socks and no shirt?