The youngest Schrafft, 5 year old Finn, finished up his 3rd hockey season the other day. Thatcher’s team is in the play-offs and will finish up, one way or the other, this weekend.
While there will surely end up being some summer sessions or hockey camps in their near future, for now, the early morning wake-up calls are almost over.
I used to wake up at 5:45 to rally the troops and get myself to work and the boys to their respective classrooms, but lately I’ve been pushing it to a bit after 6:00. Try as I may to convince myself to go to bed just once before 11:00 pm, I can’t seem to do so. I love my boys…but, I also cherish my quiet late night hours alone.
So, while school days are always a bit of a whirlwind with a dash of crazy thrown in, when we miraculously get through to Saturday unscathed, the weekend early morning hockey practices usually do me in.
Until recently my husband worked early Saturday morning…which left me to get both boys into their hockey gear bright and early to get to the rink for 8:00 and 9:00 practices. Actually, now on a travel team, Thatcher’s early Saturday practices have turned into earlier Sunday morning games.
While both boys are now experts on getting into their gear…they still need a fire lit under their butts to do so. It wasn’t nearly as pretty for the first few seasons, however. It was always a mad rush…they both needed help with everything….they needed snacks to eat while the other one was on the ice…and even books, matchbox cars, and a bag of tricks to use as hush money to get through back-to-back practices. It was downright ugly for quite a while. Might I mention that I am not…never have been…and never will be…a morning person.
I was laughing the other day when Thatcher reminded me about the “Hockey Dinosaur.”
There must have been many, many consecutive Saturdays, that I teetered on the edge of sanity while trying to get them out the door.
I believe my mantra became something like, “If you think I want to be up at the crack of dawn, you’re wrong, so please just get dressed” or “If you don’t want to get into your gear, and you don’t want to skate, I certainly won’t mind not getting up at the crack of dawn, boys!” or “If you think I got up at the crack of dawn yet again to beg you both to get off the couch and into your gear, you are crazy.” You get the gist. All very proud parenting moments.
So, one day, while I was no doubt stomping around like a mad woman, I heard Thatcher quietly say to Finn, “Mom sure is mad about the crackadon. I don’t even know that type of dinosaur.”
So, for a while, stomping around like a Crackadon became my way of getting them ready for everything…school, hockey, soccer, etc. Somewhere along the way, the Crackadon left us and the boys started to become a bit more self-motivated. I won’t be surprised if however, years from now, a couple of giant crackadons visit my grown-up sons and their future families. And we can all laugh about it again.
Good Morning Gloucester 