Hockey Dad

There are a lot of things I never pictured myself doing. Planning a 5-day field trip for 80 fourth graders to northern Minnesota, watering my lawn at 6:00 AM on a Sunday morning because it's our day to water, and blogging at 10:30 on a Saturday night.

Of all the things I never expected to do or be in my life, one of the most unlikely is being a hockey dad.

Growing up I don't think I knew that hockey existed until I was in junior high. I don't recall seeing the North Stars on TV until high school. I never saw a high school hockey game until I played at one for pep band.

So having a son that plays hockey makes me feel like a fish out of water. I know baseball- I've loved it since the Twins had Bruno, Herbie, and Kirby. Football was a favorite growing up too. I spent hours pretending I was Tommy Kramer, Wade Wilson, Anthony Carter, and Jim Gustufson. I would throw the nerf football to the far side of my parents' roof and race to the other end to catch it before it bounced to the ground.

Hockey is foreign to me.

It all started with a pair of free Wild tickets about 4 years ago. A co-worker got 4 tickets for a Christmas gift from a student's family and invited Jodi, Jack, and I. Jack was terrified the moment we walked into the Xcel Energy Center. The people, the lights, the noise was overwhelming for him.

Our seats for that game were great. A few rows up from the ice towards one of the goals. About 1 minute into the game the Wild scored. The horn went off, the crowd roared, and Jack was clinging to me bug-eyed in terror. His fingernails ripping into my neck and shoulders. His feet pushing into my stomach. It was sensory overload for him.

But it was exciting too. The clean, white ice. Bright electronic signs.

The music throbbed between plays, the players glided around the ice, and slowly Jack loosened his grip and became infatuated with the game of hockey. Before 5 minutes were up, he was clapping, cheering, and bobbing his head to the action. A two year old with a Canadian attention span for hocky.

That night we bought him a miniature Wild hockey stick. He's played with it for years and now Aidan uses it. The blade is cracked and splintered and held on only by generations of duct, electrical, and hockey tape.

I should have seen it coming. Especially with our day care provider's son playing hockey and his Iowa cousins. Three people that he worships.

Slowly it gained momentum. Summer hockey games in the driveway. Another trip to the X for a Wild game. Games at Thaler and the Pond watching Dusty play. Trips to watch the cousins in their Minnesota tournaments. It became a part of Jack's athletic repetoire with baseball, football, and swimming.

In September we enrolled Jack in a learn to skate program in Victoria. With hand-me-down skates and helmet from Sandra and new gloves from Sports Authority, he took the ice. The first couple of sessions were brutal. He was spaghetti-legged. He could not stand up or balance at all. He cried. We had to be on the ice with him. Finally we got him standing up pushing a folding chair, but we had to be along side him. The second practice was much the same. He was excited to go, but once he got there, the fear or anxiety caused by new experiences washed over him.

The third time was better. We could leave him on the ice. The fourth time we watched from the stands. And then one day at work I found a flyer in my mail box for Termite hockey. Kids 4 and one-half to 7 could skate twice a week with practice and games from October through March for $150 plus equipment.

Before I knew it he was signed up.

He is doing wonderful. He participates and listens (as best as a pre-schooler can do). Jack scored a goal in his first game in December in front of Nana and Papa.

Most amazing for me is that he knows practically no one out there. The 150 Terminte skaters are strangers to him. The live in a different town and communicating with his fellow skaters is impossible with an oversized mouth guard crammed into his jaws.

He persists. Today they started practice by skating across the ice red line to red line working on different agility drills. He's not fast, but steady and controlled. He was first in line at one cone and when another skater tried to take his spot he didn't back down no matter how the kid tried to intimidate him. Jack didn't talk smart to him (can't talk at all with that mouth guard) or push at him, he just held his ground.

At times I find myself with unrealistic expectations. Like he should participate in all of the drills all of the time. My blood pressure goes up when I see him skate away from a station to go sit on the bench or find more interesting way to spend the hour on the ice.

When this happens I ask myself: What was I doing the winter before kindergarten?

But here he is. Because of him I've learned what breezers are and how to keep his socks from sagging off his shin pads. I've also learned that hockey rinks are not heated for Termite practices so bundle up and bring school work to do.

For a parent, hockey is a grind. It costs money, takes time, and it's stressful.

I could not be more proud of him.

Buses, Bands, and (Corn)Bread

I am recovered from two days home with the boys followed by a field trip with 75 fourth graders to Orchestra Hall and the Minneapolis Institute of Art. Great places they both are, but keeping the attention of 10 years olds in these places is tough.

Taking this trip reminded me of two things:
1) Taking the bus to school as a kid
2) That school children cannot easily distinguish between the end of an ochestral piece and a dramatic pause (during the piano solo of 15 minute performance, the kid audience must have started to clap at least six times).

My family has a history with buses starting with my great-grandfather. He drove bus and, if I rememember right, hitched up the sleigh and horses in the winter. On the southwest side of the woods the runners from the old sleigh are still visible (although sunk down into the sod).

Grandpa drove bus for many years and even had a bus garage built on his property that we've since used as a shelter for pigs, horses, bunnies, pheasants, cars, and loads of grain.

The bus driver I had since 3rd grade, Bob, gave me my greatest memories. He was a good guy and a great driver that never got us stuck. Bob would pull over on the highway and let cars pass him rather than hold them up. There was peace on this bus, too. You did not mess with Bob. Even in his mid-60s I remember him pulling a kid out of his seat by the collar so hard the kid hit his head on the ceiling.

The problem was that Bob got motion sickness. He would have to pull over a couple times a week and get out of the bus. When this happened the kids in front would plaster their faces to the window hoping to see Bob throw-up. I'm not sure if he ever actually did. He would usually climb back in and make some joke. After a while it became a routine and the only people that made a big deal out of it were the kids that hadn't rode that long.

It's ironic that I remember the bus days so fondly because I could not wait to get my license and drive to school. The days mom drove us to school were few and far between. They were exotic glimpses into the lives of city kids. I'd like it if a bus picked me up for work and took me home.

In kid news:

Jack brought a new book home from day care to read. They're the Dr. Seuss books with the same basic rhyming words repeated over and over in different sentence patterns. He is doing really well.

He is also a cornbread lover. Jodi bought some at the store for supper tonight. He told her he wished he could just eat cornbread. So Jodi informed him of when she and her dad used to make cornbread on Sunday nights because her mom didn't care for it. "Can we do that?" he asked. Jodi said she'll have to talk to Papa Dale.

The Fight For Independence

Aidan is in a hurry to grow up. I do not remember Jack having the drive at this age to be as independent as Aidan tries to be. Of course, when Jack was this age he was constantly surrounded by two doting parents and had no chance to even attempt to be independent.

It has been different for Aidan. There is simply not enough time to do the day-to-day chores and pay constant attention to the boys. This is Aidan's window.

Often Jodi or I will look up from cooking, cleaning, reading the mail, etc. and find him with his winter boots on (wrong foot- but zipped). Sunday night he tried to put his pajamas on. Except he put the shirt on like a pair of pants and tried to hike them up to his neck. One small problem-there is no way that neck hole is getting over, around, or threw his belly.

Things I noticed:
• Jack was reading from Hop on Pop today.
• The price of corn is over $4.00 a bushel. At what point does ethanol from corn not make sense? Or how about heating your home from corn?
• Got the CD of pictures from Matt and Cherie's wedding. Great pictures!
• Michelle Bachmann was excited about the State of the Union last night.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nutt ... Sometimes You Don't

Dad's cousin Mike Markuson might be changing jobs after all. With Bill Parcells retiring. Jerry Jones might consider hiring Houson Nutt to coach the Cowboys. Jones is an Arkansas alum whose love for Arkansas runs so deep he once brought in Clint Stoerner to play QB for the Cowboys.

So I see 5 scenarios for Mike (listed from most likely to least).
1. Nothing changes. Nutt stays at Arkansas.
2. Nutt gets hired, brings Mike with to Dallas.
3. Nutt gets hired, Mike stays with Arkansas (possibly to a loftier title)
4. Nutt gets hired, is not brought with to Dallas, Arkansas hired a new coach who brings in his own staff (yuck-thanks Parcells for waiting 16 days)
5. The NCAA adopts Jay Weiner's proposals from the Jan. 13th Star Tribune and football is abolished at the collegiate level.



According to a man from the UK, yesterday was the most depressing day of the year. Apparently winter weather, Christmas debt, failing New Year's resoultions, fading holiday memories, and lack of motivation don't contribute to a chipper disposition.

The guy devised a formula with the different variable expressed an in equation(expression?). I do see an error though. He did not take into account the Sick Kid Quotient or the Bunny-Induced Shrub Destruction Index. Pretty shoddy.

At the O'Brien house things are status quo. Jack is still sick (although much better) today. I knew he was still sick because of two events: 1) He woke up coughing at 2:30 this morning and needed to be nebulized. 2) When we woke up this morning at 6:00 on the couch downstairs he said "Dad, I love you. You're my favorite person in the world." So obviously ill.

So another day home. The boys played really well together and were able to constuct the toy moziac on the card table that you see in the picture. It looks like he's at a flea market.

Also, Jodi and I both received the results of our wellness screening. It consisted of a survey and a blood test. According to the survey results her cholestrol is 11 points lower than mine. When she read that the first thing she did was scream for joy then she said, 'I've got to call my mom."

She's very healthy but her lack of vegetables per day, glasses of water per day, body weight, and other habits dropped her down on the survey report to below the national average in health for someone her age. However, the blood results put her at the highest level of health on the scale in that report.

The moral
1. She didn't cheat on the survey like the majority of women did.
2. Blood tests don't lie.

Home Again

At this point in the school year every week is a four-day week if you have kids. If it's not MLK Day, then one of the kids is sick. If it's not a workshop day, then one of the kids is sick.

This time it's Jack's turn. He woke up at 12:30 early this morning with a hacking cough. After a dose of cough medicine and some tossing and turning he finally fell back to sleep at 4:00. Around 2:30 (after he coughed so hard he got sick) I realized that he was going to be staying home, which meant I would be staying home.

The decision to stay home was a good one. He's not himself (i.e.-running, playing, teasing Aidan). Jack's spending the day on the couch coughing, moaning, and asking for things piteously.

Aidan is home, too. It has been our policy that if one kid gets sick they both stay home from daycare. That will change for Jack next year when he's in kindergarten. No more staying home when Aidan is sick watching Jimmy Neutron and playing Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

For me, I'm counting down the hours until Jodi gets home. When she does, I do my best to look disshelved and harried. I move around the house like an elderly man talking incoherently. My hope is she'll say,"Looks like you've had a hard day for the good of the children. Why don't you go out for a bite to eat and a beer. Come home again when you feel like it."

The Suburban Herbivore

Wildlife is scarce in our neighorhood. It's only been 5 years since the farm fields that used to exist here were scraped away to host a crop of houses. The building is done, trees and plants have taken root, and animals are starting to return.

We see bluebirds, goldfinches, and other birds in our yard, but mammals are nonexistent. Except for the bunny.

He emerged one day last summer from under our the neighbor's deck. The house is for sale and vacant. Once he saw us he scurried back under there.

The kids like him. They have fed him carrots and get the binoculars out to spot him sunning himself under the slide. Aidan likes to waddle to the window and say "Where is da bunny? Where is da bunny?"

He was a peaceful bunny, or so we thought. This week I was looking out our north windows and noticed our hydrangea bushes are gnawed down to stumps. I found some damage to our dogwood bushes late last fall so I put out some hose sections to frighten him away (apparently rabbits mistake them for snakes). We had reached a peace, or so I thought.

Then Friday morning while getting the paper, I caught him in the act. He was on the sidewalking chewing on our burning bushes. I scared him away, but on closer inspection, he had given those shrubs a beat down. Not only that, he left behind tell-tale signs of shrub consumption and digestion.

Now I need to make like Elmer Fudd and kill da wabbitt. I really don't want to kill it - I don't want to spill blood on our yard. My choices are: A) Relocate the bunny, B) Send it to Rabbit Paradise, C) Start a food program, D) Ignore the problem.

D is not a choice. I need to take care of this guy (?) before breeding season starts.