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Hockey is a four letter word. Well at least too me, and in this house, I stand alone.
#1, 2 & 3, played so much hockey growing up. Field, Street, Roller, Ice, Mini, Pick up, … it was an epidemic. We spent way too much money, and time traveling to smelly ice rinks all across America.
I think the trip to Ottawa for a tournament over Christmas break is what finally put me over the edge. I’m not a big winter fan, nor apparently a fan of Ottawa. We spent entirely too many hours in the car to get there, on roads that offer hours of nothingness to look at, and arrived in a dirty city full of snow, slush, and other hockey loving morons such as ourselves. Due to the temperature decrease, barometric pressure change, 47 hour car ride, or just general dislike of my life at that moment, the migraine started shortly after crossing the border into Canada, and stayed for the next 4 days.
We stayed in a high rise hotel, which also housed a homeless shelter. Somehow Canadian homeless people are a little scarier than American homeless people, and the last place you want to be, is stuffed into an elevator with them.
At one point, I let all 4 of the kids ride down the elevator by themselves, with strict instructions to stay together, not to let go of #4 (who was 3 at the time), not to talk to any homeless people, not to touch anything, and then go sit in the lobby until we met them. Husband and I arrive in the lobby, and the 4 kids are nowhere to be found. I initiate "Panic Plan A; the scary elevator people took my kids", as husband grunts a reassuring "I’m sure they’re somewhere" statement. Suddenly an alarm starts going off, and the people at the front desk pick up their phones. Ok initiate "Panic Plan B; the hotel is burning down and the scary elevator people took my kids."
The alarm, going strong, seems to be coming from the elevators, and a crowd begins to gather. Someone is stuck in the elevator. After several minutes of chaos, the alarm stops, the doors open, and my 4 children appear. The crowd shrugs "oh it was the Dibbles Kids" and disperses. The 4 children, now safe from death by homeless Canadians, begin talking all at once. #1 repeats "I told them not to touch anything", # 2 & #3 bicker about who should have done what, and # 4 with a worried look keeps saying "no touch button".
The next day, hour 52 of non stop migraine, I was lying in bed while the rest of the troops ran amuck in the hotel with husband’s supervision, during a break between games. Suddenly I hear the dreaded words … "who’s got #4". I can’t even lift my head off the bed, but just start ordering kids where to go to look, while making a mental note to throw husband and his superior kid watching skills, off the balcony if I ever get rid of this headache. I hear the frantic sounds of everyone calling him, and the hotel has 18 floors, ….oh my head. Finally husband opens the door to the fire escape stairs and calls #4’s name. From 5 floors away we here "yea dad" - 3 year old # 4 was walking up the fire escape stairs with no clue where he was going.
On the last day, when I could not take wearing snow boots, one more minute, I put on my dress boots, slopped thru the snow and slush, packed up the car, while Husband was coaching the team, and the second the buzzer sounded, stormed out of the rink, in my high heels, threw all children in the car and it was Good bye Ottawa !! I could not leave Canada fast enough.
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