Posts Tagged ‘street hockey’

Holy Hockey Stick, Batman!

July 27, 2014

hockey sticks 001

It’s hard to see, but there are five hockey sticks among our other “sticks”.  This used to be our only holder for hockey sticks in our garage. Not any more.

hockey sticks 002

These are next to the inside door of the garage… divided by lefties and righties.  I’m not sure why these can’t go in the stick holder shown previously.  But that is not all……

hockey sticks 003

These are the hockey sticks by the outside garage door……. obviously this is where the goalies sticks go….. but I’m not sure why the others (which are also divided by lefties and righties) can’t go with the others further inside the garage???  It’s all a mystery to me.

The GOOD NEWS is my husband was looking on Craigslist for hockey sticks, because obviously we don’t have enough yet.  And he saw an add for a guy that buys old wooden sticks for making furniture…. get this… $2 each!  He shoots!  He scores!  So the pictures that I’ve shared here are the sticks that are worth MORE than $2 each in my husband’s mind.  He just finished putting about TWENTY sticks in the back of his truck to sell to the hockey stick furniture guy!  I guess this is Spring cleaning… hockey style!  My guess is that half the hockey sticks that were in the garage just left!  Whooo HOoooOooooo!

Did I mention that we live in Phoenix, Arizona?  Not exactly a booming hockey town.

The Day I lost my Marbles

March 22, 2008

street hockey

Last Fall I volunteered to host a street hockey event for homeschool boys at our house.  The day before the event, the children and I were attempting to make the yard look acceptable by mowing the grass, weeding the rock areas and pulling out dead plants.  Mowing sounds easy, but we have a 15 foot trampoline complete with huge metal bars that hold the safety enclosure in place…..and it rotates its way around the yard to promote even grass growth.  It is so large that at least one leg is always on the grass.  It takes four of us to drag it to its new location each time.

The kids and I had been working in the hot AZ sun for several hours and we were sweaty, dirty and tired.  Wearing my hot-pink gingham gardening gloves, I hauled the last bag of clippings to the front yard garbage can and headed back to close the side gate.  My youngest son was still in the front depositing other treasures in the garbage can.  Just as the gate clicked, I heard a car pull into the cul-de-sac and stop.  Remembering my baby was alone out there (OK, he’s 9, but STILL!), I ran back to the front yard to make sure he wasn’t being kidnapped.

He was safe.  It was a fellow homeschool mom with her son and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies coming to the street hockey event.  Reason left my mind.  Consciousness practically did too.  She told me that it was supposed to be that day, while climbing out of her truck.  I mumbled something incoherent about needing to straighten up a bit and darted for the front door. 

I didn’t even check the calendar to verify her arrival for the appropriate day.  I just plain freaked out.  I needed a shower… there was no time.  I didn’t have any make-up on…. there was no time.  My house was in shambles…. I had about 15 seconds until she reached the entry.  So I did what any sensible, calm homemaker would do in the midst of a kitchen piled with dirty dishes… a table covered with JUNK and clothing, shoes, laundry, newspapers, and dog toys scattered all over the floor…..   I went straight to the cupboard under the kitchen sink and grabbed the garbage can.  I quickly ran to the laundry room and set it on the dryer.  (Why?  I have no idea…. it was out of sight to begin with.)  Then I went back into the kitchen and surveyed the disaster zone.  In a zombie-like stance, with my shaking arms stretched out in front of me, I yelled in despair, “Look at my house!”  The sight must have been frightening because my daughter jumped off the couch and ran past me and upstairs without a word.

Then I thought, “It’s not today.  It’s tomorrow.” I put my arms down and checked the calendar.  Yep, still had 23 hours to get ready.  I greeted the other mother at the door and calmly confirmed in a gentle manner that she was the basket-case and not me  (even though the previous 17 seconds confirmed otherwise.)