Yes. Hockey. In August. When we’re still going to the pool, eating ice cream cones outside, running the air conditioning and having barbecues.
And I’ve already received several e-mails from The Youngest Boy’s new hockey team about upcoming practices for the August-through-April youth hockey season (because, you know, you need to GET READY, you know, for THE NEXT LEVEL, therefore you need to play 447 games per year to perfect your game, when you’re in elementary school and are still losing your baby teeth). Not that I’m bitter or anything.
I’m so not in the right frame of mind for the season to begin at this moment. However this time, I’m not going to be caught unprepared, I'm not a rookie hockey mom any more. For example, before the games begin in earnest, I think I’m going to buy some of those folding stadium chair thingies, the ones that provide back support, for those freezing cold games which I’m convinced kept me persistantly sick through much of last winter.
School Shopping
I have done approximately . . . nothing. Nada. Zippo.
I still, surprisingly, have The Youngest Boy’s school supply list that he got from his teacher in June. (Or I think I have it. I remember putting it away for “safe keeping.” If only I can recall where “safe” is.)
The supply lists for the twin seventh graders are available online.
Those pesky flyers advertising Back to School Sales have been everywhere. But I haven’t looked through them. I don’t want to.
I’m in denial.
No . . . I’m . . . not . . . ready for the madness to begin anew.
Doggie Rescue, Part Two?
When we brought Max the dog to his doggie camp during our Cape Cod vacation week, he was thrilled to be dropped off at “camp.” He simply adores playing with the other dogs. In fact, as soon as we pulled into the driveway, he started going nuts and scrambled to go outside. Once outside, he pulled really hard against the leash, never looking back once he was taken by one of the staffers to go into the yard to play with the other canines.
After relating this story to The Spouse he asked, “Do you think we should get Max a friend? Maybe he’s lonely. I feel bad.”
*palm smacking forehead*
We went through this last year, when I was telling him that I thought Max would thrive if we got another companion dog as he often looks bored when he’s home with me and I’m sitting with my laptop computer all day. Whenever another dog is around he simply lights up. But The Spouse was resistant. Energetically resistant. Then after the awful chocolate incident, I dropped the matter entirely.
And now The Spouse is raising a second dog as a possibility, the notion he thoroughly dismissed as yet another one of my hair-brained ideas. Which means I’m now finding myself irresistibly drawn to PetFinder.com, the web site where we found Max (it features listings from dog shelters) and am e-mailing said dog listings to The Spouse.
No, I have no idea what I’m thinking. As if things aren’t already chaotic enough around here.
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