The Pittsburgh Penguins play the Detroit Red Wings tonight for the Stanley Cup.
When I was a teenager I loved hockey. I knew the names of all the players. I watched every game. It might have had something to do with the cute guys on the team. With teenage girls, most things do.
These days I don't enjoy it. Right now, some of you are shaking your head in disgust, and taking me off your blog list, but it's true. I enjoy watching football (does that redeem me even a little?), but I find hockey stressful and boring. Stressful and boring - those two words don't seem to go together, do they? But they do, oh, they do.
To me, hockey is like my life. I rush over to this side of the ice to do the laundry. I rush over to this side to get the groceries. I rush back over to that side to pay the bills. I rush back to the other side to clean up dinner. Back over here to pack the diaper bag. Back over there to put the clothes away. Back and forth, back and forth, all with a great deal of energy, but nothing all that exciting happening. I just have to rush back over there again.
Unlike hockey, when you're a mom, no one cheers when you finish that billionth load of laundry. Their voice doesn't raise to a crescendo "and it LOOKS LIKE SHE MIGHT ACTUALLY REMEMBER TO TAKE THIS LOAD OUT OF THE DRYER....no, she didn't". Some padding would really help prevent the bumps and bruises I get from a very clumsy and active toddler who likes to use my body as a jungle gym. A face mask would make me feel a lot safer with all those balls flying around, too.
But, in spite of all this, I'll be glued to my TV tonight, watching as the Penguins hopefully win the Stanley Cup. Because you know, if I'm not getting a trophy for all this work, at least they should.