Spring cleaning

As you may or may not have noticed, I took some time off from my blogging duties here at UrbanMoms.  No, no I was not off on a whirlwind book tour promoting my yet to be published novel, nor was I on the amateur Chippendale circuit, hitting suburban dinner theatres across Canada.  Actually, due some serious stuff going on in our lives that is a bit too serious to be discussed here, I needed a bit of a break to reassess and find my voice again without letting the ominous and pertinence hover (appropriately, it’s that serious) and cloud my attempt at entertaining.

So I am back, with a brand new voice (still deep, still smoldering) ready to offer my perspective on all aspects of life, not just the raising of my two remarkably redolent boys.

Spring is almost here. I recently changed positions where I work and my wife is completely changing jobs.  As I mentioned on Facebook, 2013 is already memorable.

Both our boys’ hockey is over for the year and both their teams won their respective championships.

For one weekend, Steph and were the hockey parents, toting our boys to different arenas, handing them off to other parents due to overlap and cheering from on the cold stands.  Couple of observations:  First, I have no idea how parents of full time hockey children do it, especially if multiple children are involved and even worse, select teams are part of it where hockey is played or practiced seven days a week.  Maybe we are selfish, but that much racing around, dropping off, getting dressed, tying skates, driving to tournaments, drinking flasks (wait, what?) is just not for us. For one weekend we very much enjoyed it and were very proud of the boys efforts in a sport they tried for the first time this year (it showed) but loved.  Tasman even received the Most Improved Player award for his team and most sports team participants know the thinly veiled origin of this recognition. Still awesome.

Second, the shrieking of hockey mothers is one of the most horrific sounds ever to attack my ears.  It escalates during the drama of the moment until reaching a crescendo where cats are hiding and babies are crying.  I can only imagine the husband during the throws of ecstasy praying for a quick and painless death.

Other than that, the hot chocolate was good, as was the sweaty, matted heads beaming wide ass smiles after their games.

Stay tuned more coming.