So far, 2014 has been a year of learning.
I’ve learned now that I am a mother of 2, that life is insanely busy and some days I don’t bother to change out of jammies. I’ve learned that sometimes I can’t remember if I’ve brushed my teeth that day. I’ve also learned that I have now completely metamorphosized (spelling???) from someone who used to like to fold the clothing and put them away, into someone who just tosses the clothes into the drawer and worries about wrinkles later. Chasing after 2 kids is something like a cross between the movie Groundhog Day and going for a run with your excellent runner friend while you have a hangover. Both somewhat amusing, but have their moments of eye rolling and WTFs.
Most of all, I’ve learned that I enjoy different things now. Life’s little pleasures completely took on a new meaning as soon as the first kid was born, and especially changed after baby #2 entered our lives.
This became a very powerful and pertinent realization while on a recent trip to Arizona with my family.
We’ve always wanted to visit Arizona, to do some shopping and golf. While looking at dates to travel, my husband and I literally planned our trip around the Vancouver Canuck’s hockey schedule. We desperately wanted to see our hometown boys play in another city. To our delight, everything worked out perfectly and we were able to fit our travel plans accordingly.
Sadly, within 6 hours of arriving in Phoenix, my husband and I were both violently ill with the stomach flu. Horrific doesn’t even describe it. We both were sick all night long, and into the early hours of the morning. Thankfully, the vomiting dissipated by the next day, but as many of you know, after a night of puking your guts out, you don’t feel right for a few days. Your back aches, your stomach is uneasy, and you just feel weak.
What a damper on the trip.
We kept our heads up and crossed our fingers that no one else in our travelling brood (in laws and our children) would get this majorly contagious asshole of a virus. A few days passed and we did the tourist thing, and everything seemed on the upswing.
Thursday rolled around, and we were feeling almost 100%. We had a great day, sitting by the pool in 22 degree weather and sipping on cocktails. The kids laughed and squealed in the water, and my husband and father in law and I chatted excitedly about the hockey game that we would be attending that night. I was beyond excited to be going out solo with my hubby – no kids, while enjoying dinner, drinks and Canucks – how lucky was I?!
As we all returned to the room to start getting decked out in our jerseys for the game, I noticed my older daughter looking rather pale and lethargic on the couch. I spoke softly to her, held her face in my hands, and felt her forehead.
She was burning.
I whipped out the thermometer to find that she was running a mid-grade temperature. My anxiety levels spiked as I remembered my puking adventures from the other night. My immediate instinct was to forfeit my ticket to the game and wrap my daughter in my arms to comfort her for the night.
It took a lot of convincing on behalf of my husband and my in-laws, but eventually, they coerced me to go to the game. They said that I needed a night out, and that my daughter would be fine.
I knew that they were right. I did need a night out. And of course she would be fine. She’s in the trusted and gentle hands of my mother in law, whom she adores.
Nevertheless, I just didn’t want to go. And it wasn’t totally because my daughter was sick; it just was what it was: I didn’t want to go. I had no interest in hockey anymore. It was gone.
It was a shocking revelation for someone like myself who could, at one time, recite all the players names and numbers, spout stats like a guy, and invested time and energy into the playoffs like a true fan. I’d plan my schedules at work around their games. Some of my best memories of my life are of my dad and I attending the games at the Coliseum, listening to cow bells and team chants from the stands. I cheered until I lost my voice at the televised screen in the Coliseum in the Stanley Cup Final game in ’94.
My relationship with hockey was over.
If I do say so, it was a gentle breakup. We’re still friends, hockey and I. I’ll still tune into the games now and then. But I’d much rather be doing a Dora puzzle with my daughter than watching my husband turn blue in the face because the refereeing is “diabolical”. LOL
I think my face says it all in this photo. We made it onto TV at the Phoenix Coyotes Game. Don’t we look impressed?
Thankfully, neither of my kids caught that flu from us. However, the eldest’s fever spiked to 103 on the plane ride home, which turned into a trip directly to the clinic and a round of meds for a chest infection. Sigh. Kids!! Little germ factories!!
Thanks for reading! xox Melly