The Momoir Project

If you think being the mother of a five-year-old, a two-year-old and newborn twins (all boys I might add) poses a challenge, try being a hockey mom on top of it all. When my twins were four-months-old and I was still a little green when it came to solo outings and putting on jock straps, I was charged with the task of getting my eldest, Justin, to his hockey practice. It was a task usually reserved for my husband Dave, but the night before, he told me he wouldn’t be able to get off work.

So before I go to bed, I take out my calculator to figure out how far in advance I need to start getting ready so I can get there on time. I factor in things like giving the older kids a snack before we leave, feeding and changing each of the babies, getting Justin dressed in his gear so that all 97 pieces stay on throughout the practice, changing a last minute poopy diaper–or two–putting both babies in their car seats, packing the diaper bag with enough diapers, wipes and outfits to last for 90 minutes, putting shoes on my two-year-old Aidan, finding coats and blankets to wear in the arena, loading the car with the hockey bag, diaper bag, toys for Aidan to play with, snacks to eat at the rink, stroller, two car seats (with babies in them), and two kids, driving to the arena, unpacking the stroller, car seats, two kids, diaper bag and hockey bag, maneuvering the entire ensemble of stuff and tiny humans from the parking lot through the doorway and into the dressing rooms, putting on Justin’s helmet and gloves, and getting Justin’s skates on so that they stay tied up for the whole practice.

I figure 85 minutes is enough time.

The next day I have my game plan all laid out. I am ready. I pack everything and everyone into the van, and get into the driver’s seat and look at the clock—right on time. We start on our way and I look around, noticing the beautiful, sunny September afternoon. The kids are all quiet in the car. I feel such a sense of mastery as I drive for ten minutes to the arena. At the rate I am going, we are actually going to be early.

Driving up to the arena, I score the parking spot closest to the rink doors. I get out of the van and unfold the stroller. I open one rear sliding door and heave one car seat out of the van and click it into the stroller. I walk around to the other side and open the door to let Justin and Aidan out. Then, I heave the other car seat out and click that into the stroller. I neatly hang the diaper bag onto the stroller’s handlebar. Justin drags his own hockey bag and Aidan begrudgingly walks beside the stroller. I have everything under control.

The stroller is long, longer even than some small cars. But Justin opens the door to the rink for me, and I manage to make the series of sharp right turns to get the stroller into the dressing room. Aidan sits beside Justin on the bench and plays with his little batman. I kneel down at Justin’s feet and tackle the skates. Tying up hockey skates is not my forte. I never tie them tight enough and I always struggle to find the right criss-cross pair of laces to pull to make them tighter. It takes me longer than most of the hockey dads that are there, but at last I am done. And we are still 5 minutes early.

“Okay, Justin,” I say, all chipper. “Get your hockey stick and go out there.”

“Where’s my stick, Mom?” he asks.

Where is his stick? I look inside his hockey bag as if the stick could defy the laws of physics and fit inside something that is clearly smaller than itself. Shit.

I look wildly around the room to see if there’s a spare stick that happens to be lying around. Nothing. I’m new to this hockey group and I don’t know anyone there I can ask for an extra stick. Shit.

I start to have that sinking feeling as I weigh my options. Justin can’t play hockey without a stick. The stick is at home. I just know it’s sitting right there on the porch. But there’s no one at home who can bring it to me. There’s no one but strangers with whom to leave my four kids, and while the thought does cross my mind, I realize that I have to go get the stick with all four kids in tow. This may seem a small and insignificant hurdle in the grand scheme of things, but at the time, it seems absolutely insurmountable.

I look down at Justin’s skates which took me at least 10 minutes to tie up. There’s no way in hell those things are coming off in order to get to the car. But Justin can’t walk on pavement in his skates–he’ll ruin them. I switch from despair to guerilla warfare mode and I can actually feel the adrenaline releasing into my blood stream. I have the strength of 10 hockey moms as I charge out of the arena with the incredibly long stroller, and with Justin and Aidan in tow.

“What are we doing, Mom?” Aidan asks.

“Just follow mommy!” I shout at him as I race down the hall.

We get to the end of the rubber-matted hallway and stand in front of the door.

“Get on my back,” I yell to Justin as I crouch down so that he can jump on from behind. With Justin on my back, I back up against the door to push it open, and I back out of the doorway dragging the stroller with me. With one hand holding Justin on my back and the other pushing the ridiculously long stroller, I storm through the parking lot. I can’t see Aidan in my peripherals. “Aidan, hold on to the stroller,” I command as I hunch over the stroller with Justin on my back. Luckily, we’re in the close parking spot. We get to the van and I open the door and shrug Justin off my back. I buckle all four kids back in the van. In goes the diaper bag and stroller. I race home and grab the stick from the porch, throw it in the van and race back. My dear husband, who has come straight from work to the hockey rink arrives in the parking lot just as I pull up. He rides up to the car to meet us. I step out wildly from the van and assault him with the details of the previous 15 minutes.

“Why didn’t you just let him play without his stick?” he asks.

I feel like throttling him. We’re 25 minutes late, with just twenty minutes left in the practice. So much for the calculator and the precision family outing.

A year later, hockey season is once again upon me and once again, I am faced with the task of getting to hockey practice with all four kids. But now, I am a seasoned hockey mom: I keep the stick in the van.