Again with the Cats

For long-time readers, you may remember that from a very young age, Declan was obsessed with getting a cat as a pet. Obsessed, I tell you. He asked ALL the time. I am not a huge cat fan. And to say that Eamonn isn't a huge cat fan would be an understatement. In fact, I think on our first date, a cat ran into the road and he swerved to try and hit it. Not good news for those of you who are cat lovers, I realize, but there you have it. It may also explain why his sisters lock their cats in a separate room when we visit.

Anyway, we didn't want to say to Declan, "No, you can't have a cat because WE HATE THEM." No, instead we made up, and have maintained to this day, an elaborate lie that Eamonn is allergic to cats. (I have a little twinge of guilt every time the boys and I are at someone's house and they have cats and the boys say, "Good thing Dad isn't here! His head would blow up!" The still truly believe, eight years later, that Eamonn is allergic to cats.)

But my point is that Declan, for some reason, so desperately wanted a cat. And over time, it has rubbed off on Finn, too.

One day during the summer of 2004, I was driving down Rt. 23 from our house to my Mom's in Worthington (this was when we still lived in Ohio and it is still so vivid in my mind). The boys were with me. Finn would have been about 22 months old, Declan just over 4 years old. And of course, Declan was dressed as Spider-Man.

Anyway, we were on Rt. 23, just in front of the Josephinum at a traffic light (if you're from that area, you know EXACTLY where I am), and all of the sudden, from the backseat, Declan asks, "Mommy, when Daddy dies, can we get a cat?"

I nearly drove off the road. I immediately called Eamonn and asked how he was feeling. It has been a hilarious story for all of these years.

Fast forward to modern times. The boys would still love a pet. And we don't have one, for various and sundry reasons. The chief reason we don't have a cat, is obvious. We don't have a dog because we are on the road about five months a year for hockey and who the heck is going to take care of the dog while we travel? We've been asked to buy all sorts of other creatures, but so far, we haven't taken the plunge.

So last week, I'm driving (shades of summer '04) and Finn says, "If we can't get a cat, could we get an ocelot?"

This gave me pause. What the hell is an ocelot? My first thought was that it's some sort of lizard, but somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I felt like I'd seen an ocelot...at the zoo. I didn't have Google to help me out, as I was behind to wheel of the car at the time (why, oh why, must they always ask for animals when I'm driving???). So I decided to probe for some answers.

Me: "Um, didn't we see an ocelot once at the zoo?"

Finn: "Yes! Do you remember?"

Me: "Well, not entirely, but I'm feeling like if an animal is at the zoo, it's unlikely to make a very good house pet. You know, because it has to be kept in a cage and all."

Finn: "But it's a cat. They are more like house cats than any other type of wild cat."

Me: "Wild being the key word here, I think."

Finn: "Darn.....can I get a corn snake?"

Sigh.

The Unsuccessful Dream Killer

As I write this, Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Final is about to get underway. Aside from the fact that it totally bugs me that people try to put their own spin on The Star Spangled Banner and sing it in a different rhythm so it's hard to sing along, I'm pretty darn excited.

I love hockey.

Good thing considering that we leave early Friday morning for a hockey tournament.

But whatever.

My point here is that to this day, Declan thinks he's going to the NHL. And I'm very glad for that because of something that happened on his first day of Mini Mite hockey. First day.

Picture this. About 35 or 40 kids, 6 and 7 years old. Declan was 6. It was his very first official day of hockey. He'd done all of the learn-to-skate, learn-to-play hockey, intro to hockey, and hockey camps that he'd been eligible to do at this point. This is a kid who, at the age of 3, told us he wanted to learn to skate. And pretty quickly after that, skating became hockey and hockey became playing as goalie.

By the ripe old age of 6, he has already started watching hockey on TV. He has already started playing hockey in the basement (mostly making up his own rules so that his little friends don't actually want to play with him). He makes comments like, "When I play for the Blue Jackets..."

It is beyond sweet.

So it's October 2006 and 6-year-old Declan is one the ice, stick in hand. The kids skate around and warm up. A coach skates to center ice and blows his whistle. All of the kids gather around. The coach gives a little speech. I assume it's some sort of motivational speech, welcome to hockey, yaddah yaddah yaddah. The coach is talking. I see all of the kids raise their hands. More talking. They start doing drills.

I was wrong when I thought the kids were getting a little "welcome to hockey" speech. And I found this out after the practice when I asked Declan what the coach said. There was no, hi, great to have you. Nope, it went something like this:

Coach: "Who here thinks they're going to the NHL?"

Of course, every hand goes up.

Coach: "Well, actually none of you are going to the NHL. There is no one here who is going to the NHL. And because none of you are going to the NHL, we're not here show off or let people be superstars. We're here to learn and have fun."

Now, his words are true, I'll grant him that. Statistically, it's unlikely that a little Mini Mite from a small rural Colorado mountain town will end up in the NHL. And I agree, overall, with his message. Kids need to learn the sport, have fun and not have all of the crazy competitiveness that comes, regardless, with kids' sports.

What I resent and despise is killing a child's dream by saying "You know those dreams you have? Well, they're never coming true." His speech would have been better served being directed at the parents: "Keep your shirt on, your kid isn't going to the NHL."

Anyway, right or wrong, from that second on, I despised that coach. And I still do. I try not to be a person who dwells on stuff for too long, but that has always bugged me.

And I probably should get over it because clearly Declan still has the dream. He still makes comments like, "When I play for the Blue Jackets..." Sometimes he'll say in a horrified voice, "What if I get drafted by the Red Wings?!?!?!" They're the Blue Jackets' archrival, in case you were wondering.

So tonight while I was cooking dinner, a player for one of the teams playing tonight (Vancouver Canucks--Finn's favorite team vs. the Boston Bruins) talked about how Game 7 is the culmination of a lifetime of dreams, the playing out of a fantasy since he was a child. He talked about how as a kid he played hockey in the basement, in the driveway, in the street, or on a pond with his friends and in their games, it was always Game 7 of the Stanley Cup. Never Game 3, never Game 6. Game 7 is IT. It is THE DREAM of anyone who has ever played hockey.

Which wouldn't be me, of course, I can't even really skate. But I have heard that Game 7 scenario in my basement more times than I can count--coming up through the air ducts, floating through the house, whether it's spring, summer, winter or fall. Regardless of whether we've been away at hockey, camping or the pool. It is their dream and they replay it over and over and over again.

So I admit I got a tiny tear in my eye when I heard the player talk about what playing in the biggest game of his life tonight meant to him. Maybe a coach told him he'd never be in the NHL one day, and yet, there he is on my TV screen right now, living out his greatest dream.

And so really, is it so wrong to let kids dream big dreams? Do we need to be the ones to say to them, "You know, that's not going to happen, right?" I grew up riding horses and for a long, long time, maybe into high school, I had a dream of going to the Olympics. Now clearly, there came a point in my life where I realized I wasn't going to the Olympics, but I figured that out on my own and it didn't diminish the love I had for riding or my commitment to it. My point is I didn't have some jackass telling me I would never achieve my goals and dreams at any point, let alone when I was 6.

So go chase your dreams--whatever they are--and don't let anyone ever tell you they won't come true. And then look for me in the stands in 2018 or maybe 2022 when I'm watching Declan in the gold medal ice hockey game at the Olympics. Because when he goes, I'm definitely going, too.


Learning from Red Wings goalie coach Jim Bedard.

The Last Time

Today was Declan's last day of elementary school. And the last time the boys will be at the same school...until they're in high school.


I got up at a ridiculously early hour to get my workout and shower in before making chocolate chip pancakes and bacon.

I think I actually feel asleep standing up during the all-school slide show at 2pm.







I have spent nearly every day of the last 10 days at school. Plays. Music concerts. Class parties. Park trips. Pool trips.

Today, for example, started at 8:15am with class plays. At 10am there was a "continuation" ceremony and celebration. Then on to the park for a picnic. I delivered ice cream sandwiches. Back to school. Clapped the 5th graders into the gym. Then the epic slideshow.

It won't ever be like this again.

I think I might be a little relieved.


Check him out: Middle schooler

And maybe just a little bit sad.

And on Today's Episode of "As the Emergency Room Turns..."

In the last ten and three quarters years, I have spent more time in emergency medical situations than I did in the entire first 32 years of my life.

I remember when I was in fifth grade and my teacher, who had two boys, would tell stories about how his sons were constantly breaking or spraining appendages, requiring stitches, or getting general injuries requiring medical attention.

Having two sisters, I totally couldn't relate. Girls. We just don't tend to end up in the ER as often, apparently. At least not in my family.

As a result, I feel woefully unprepared for the medical drama that is associated with boys. You know, like scalpings, impalement, hypoxia, wrist breakages, other miscellaneous scalp lacs and head traumas. Please note: not all of these injuries belong to the little people in this house.

Anyway, for the last two days, the boys have been at Learn to Ski days for school. Since they would be skiing until 3:30pm each day, I took advantage of the opportunity to take a ski lesson myself.

I won't go into the various forms of torture my ski instructor put me through, but today, I wasn't so eager to run back out to the mountain. So I stayed home getting caught up on work. Around 12:45pm, I realized I was going to be finished around 1:30pm and since I had to go to the resort to pick up the kids anyway, I figured I'd at least go make a couple of runs to be sure all of my limbs were still in working order.

Thirty seconds later, the phone rang. It was Eamonn saying that he had just received a call. Declan had "taken a digger," in his words, and was at the mountain's medical center.

Now, over the years I've worked to stay calm in a crisis, but the first words out of my mouth were, "Why did they call you insted of me?" Not, "Oh no! My baby! Is he hurt?" Maybe I need to be a little less calm in a crisis and not worry why the medical people didn't call me since I was the one on the emergency contact forms (Turns out, Declan gave them the wrong phone number for me, but remembered Eamonn's number perfectly. I reminded him that BOTH numbers are on the back of his helmet...and in the pocket of his coat...).

Anyway, I was still in my workout clothes so I threw on real clothing and ran out the door.

Declan had been skiing down a steep-ish run and, in Eamonn's words, "took a digger," hitting himself in the nose with his ski pole on the way down and leaving a nice pool of blood in the snow which always creates a lot of excitement--all of that red on the lovely contrasting white, right? Because there was a lot of blood and he was dizzy, his ski instructor called ski patrol and Declan became the first person in our family to have the honor of being littered off the mountain on the ski patrol sled.

Sweet.

(I had a million questions about how comfortable that was. He said it wasn't that bad.)

An x-ray confirmed there was no serious injury. Words like "nasal contusion" and "mild closed head injury" are on the discharge papers (as in, his nose is bruised and he bumped his head). However, he is restricted from any sports for the next week. He'll be cleared to play hockey just before his game next Saturday (good news since he's the goalie). They take head injuries very seriously these days.

Once discharged, he ate a cheeseburger the size of Texas with a side of fries and then ran down the Beaver Creek cookie lady to get one of the free, warm chocolate chip cookies that are given out every day at 3pm.

I'm pretty sure he's feeling just fine.

See you next time on "As the Emergency Room Turns." Or not if we're lucky. Ha.

Obnoxious Hockey Mom Reporting for Duty

Over the weekend, we went to a hockey tournament in Aspen. As far as places to go for a hockey tournament, Aspen is not a bad place to be.

Especially if you win.

Which the boys did.

As you can see by the photo which shows that I am shamelessly bragging about my child. And this is where I oh so casually mention that along the way to winning this tournament, my son had a shutout, not once, but twice, against the team that was the state champion last year. Casual. I'm casual about it.

I will confess that when we scored against the team that was the state champion last year I:

1. Cheered so hard I fell off the back of my bleacher seat (I just dropped a few inches onto the concrete floor behind me, but I bet it was hilarious looking and caused the opposing fans to think, "She totally deserved that.").
2. Jumped up and down and screamed and nearly tore the sleeve off of the coat of the person sitting next to me. Multiple times.
3. Felt smug that our little mountain team beat the "big city kids."

Yes, I was an over-celebrator. If there were penalties for fans over-celebrating, I would have been fined. Or put in the penalty box, or however those types of crimes are punished.

In my defense, I don't yell derogatory things about the other team. That would be horrible. And plus, I don't know what I'm talking about to even yell anything derogatory. I'm more of a, "Yeah, Declan! Go VEHA! Come on boys! Skate, skate, skate!" type of person. I don't cheer when another team gets a penalty. Some other teams do this and I see how devastating it is on the kids. Come on, they're like 10 or 11. Or some are even younger, so do we really need to ridicule them?

Anyway,I'm going to try and dial my celebrating back for this weekend.

I'll let you know how that works out for me.

Pink Eye. Awesome.

We almost made it, people. Almost. We almost made it to the end of the school year (June 3) with no one else coming down with some sort of contagion. And then I got a phone call last week that Declan's friend, who sits next to him in class, has pink eye.

I waited.

Declan never got it.

But Finn did.

From the kid who sits next to him.

Fortunately, I was ready with drops AND a homeopathic remedy. I was taking no chances.

Finn: Will I be going to school tomorrow?

Me: Yes.

Declan: Aren't you supposed to stay home when you get pink eye?

Me: Yes.

Finn: But I'm going to school?

Me: Yes.

Because seriously, it's the last few days of school. Clearly everyone else has had it and given it to my kids, yet again. And I am annoyed. In fact, when I went over to school to give Finn the drops this morning (you've got to hit them 6 times in the first 24 hours), the kid who sits next to Finn said, "Hey, I've got a pink eye, too!"

Yes, I know, I heard.

And then I lectured him about handwashing.

Because I'm fun like that.


***********
About the hair: I WILL post pictures, after Nick does his thing to it on June 7. I won't subject you to how I look on a daily basis--it's the "I just worked out and haven't had time to shower" look. No one needs to see that. Except the other parents picking up their kids after school.

Oh no. The Talent Show

I dread it every year. "It" = the Talent Show at the boys' elementary school. It's not just that I have to sit through watching my children perform a routine that I have already been forced to watch 7.2 million times, it's having to watch (and listen to) other people's children. For two and a half hours. (And as a sidenote here, I did stay and I made my kids stay throughout the entire thing even though they were early on in the night. Other people left after their kids performed. Lame.)

I'm not a theater person. You know this.

Except when I wanted to go see Jersey Boys in Chicago. I was a theater person that day.

It's not just having to go over to school on a Friday night when I'd rather be home with my bowl of popcorn. There was all of the practice--or lack thereof--prior to the Talent Show. You see, I've discovered my children want to be on stage, but they don't want to do any of the rehearsing prior to the event. Apparently they feel they are naturally talented and don't need to practice.

So practice sessions become nagging sessions with the moms hovering around and trying to get them to run through the routine at least once so they actually knew the moves and words to the song before show time. Is it too much too ask? Apparently.

In fact, this year's routine, was to feature Declan, Finn, Declan's friend Jack, and Jack's little brother, Reid (he's in kindergarten!) as a group called Ice Cubed and hip hopping to "Ice Ice Baby." (Don't worry, we cut it off before the last verse when Vanilla Ice throws out a few swear words. We learned our lesson after accidentally choosing a song with explicit lyrics last year and having the song banned by the school--which they later played at a school dance. Hmmm.)

Anyway, during the first rehearsal, it dawned on Finn that he was actually going to have to practice many times before the performance. Like over and over and over again. He dropped out of the group. Next year he says he's doing a solo routine.

But with all of my grumbling about the difficulty of making the kids practice, having to leave the nest on a Friday night, and sitting and watching out of sync dancers and listening to out of tune singers for what seemed like an eternity, I'll do it again next year because all of the kids--mine and everyone else's--did a really great job. They had the nerve to get up there and do their act, whether they were in tune or out, in front of a crowd of people, which is far more than I could say about myself at that age (or even now).

However, you might just have to remind me not to grumble when Talent Show time comes around next year.

Greetings from Sick Bay

Tissue, anyone? Day 7 of Declan's mono diagnosis and all's well. Well, not totally well, but better. His symptoms last week were mostly like a very severe cold--lots of coughing and blowing out gunky stuff. Ick.

The thing that's troubling to me is that there is no conventional treatment for mono. What to do? What to do? I tried various and sundry homeopathic remedies to ease him symptoms, but to no avail. He was pretty miserable.

And then I called a friend who is a naturopathic doctor and asked what she thought. We went in to see her and she provided us with some supplements and herbal remedies, AND she did acupuncture on him! It was so cool. I've always wanted to try it. Declan thought it was slightly less amusing to be a human pincushion, but he was pretty cooperative.

That night was a really tough one--this is apparently common when the symptoms are coming out from the acupuncture. And the next day, there was marked improvement. By Friday, I was wishing I'd sent him to school. He was well enough to be squirrely and annoying after a week at home. I'm happy to report we both survived the day. We went back for one more acupuncture treatment, during which he cried and then laughed hysterically--again, something you sometimes see as a reaction. But the bottom line is that boy is ready to go back to school.

At least he'd better be. I have lunch plans with a friend tomorrow.

Anyway, I've been interested in naturopathy and homeopathy for quite awhile. We did some of both with Finn during treatment and I tried to learn more about it so that when anyone is getting sick, I treat it homeopathically instead of with over the counter drugs, which scare me to death especially since the FDA has decided, "Hey! That stuff companies make for your kids? It doesn't work and it's not all that safe anyway!"

Nice.

Homeopathy is hard. Sometimes I get it right, sometimes I don't. The beauty of homeopathy is that when you get it wrong, nothing happens. You don't cause any further problems. You just wait a bit and try a different remedy. And it's like hitting the sweet spot on a golf ball when you get it right. Or so I hear. I don't play golf.

I'm a bit of a compulsive nut. It's true. When I hear about something, I like to go learn more about it and see if it's something I want to jump into willy nilly or run from screaming.

Mostly I like to jump in willy nilly on health and nutrition things. My latest kick, as I mentioned a few posts ago, was two weeks of eating as a gluten-free vegan.

It was a challenge through an online fitness forum I take part in and it sounded hard at first. What, exactly, was I going to eat? Yes, I knew I could do a lot of raw eating, which I did several years ago and have strayed violently from, but even when I did a three week raw challenge in the past, I could set my own goals. Then I chose to eat raw all day and have a small piece of meat at dinner. No meat at all? Could I do it? Dairy? Wheat? Cheese? You should know that I love cheese.

It loves my thighs right back, incidentally.

Anyway, I got a bit of a slow start. I didn't prepare any wheat free stuff prior to the challenge and I was hurting those first few days. I consumed a lot of raw vegetables.

But then I got my footing, dehydrated some buckwheat groats for cereal and some seed bread, got some beans on the shelves and I was off and running. I had a few stumbles here and there. I was in Boulder 10 days ago (oh my word--did I write about our trip to Boulder to meet Chef Ann Cooper? The woman who has reformed school lunches in Berkley, in school districts in Texas? She's the U.S.'s Jamie Oliver! And are you watching his Food Revolution? We'll talk about that during the next post. Whenever it happens.) Where was I? Boulder. I was in Boulder. A city that has a college campus and many wonderful restaurants INCLUDING Indian restaurants, possibly my favorite ethic food. I was chowing down on a thigh of Tandoori chicken and dipping it in Raita before I remembered I was a vegan.

I confessed all on my forum's thread and then moved on.

Overall, the challenge was a great learning experience and what I'm taking away from it is that I will not be going back to gluten/wheat. I cannot believe the changes in my sinuses. I thought they were in generally good shape after my sinus surgery four years ago, but now, after two weeks of no wheat/gluten, I can't believe it. My nasal passages work ALL the time. Not just sometimes. I wake up in the morning and I can breathe. It's very lovely, really!

I think the thing that surprised me most about the challenge is that I don't miss wheat products at all. I'm trying to figure out now what I should do with all of the wheat-based cereals and crackers around here. Do I/we eat them and then go through the detox process again? That wasn't a fun few days.

And I'm determined to get the boys and Eamonn eating gluten free as well. I think that will help everyone's sinus issues and the, um, digestive issues as well.

As an aside, Tara and Erin are both doing gluten free, too. Erin is hardcore and went all the way--no gluten. In fact, her results inspired me to do the challenge. Tara has done experimenting.

So what did I eat? Breakfasts were things like dehydrated buckwheat groats. It's like Grape Nuts, which I love. I'd top them with a banana, raw agave syrup, and either soy or hemp milk. I have to say, I love hemp milk. That sounds very hippie-ish. Or I might have gluten-free vegan waffles. Yes, they do exist. Van's makes them or I also made them myself. I liked to top them with pureed fruit and flax seeds. I also like to soak oat groats over night and top those with almonds, raisins and soy or hemp milk. I know it's strange, but I love millet porridge. I figure if times get really hard, I can dine at the neighbor's bird feeder now and be just fine.

Did I mention I'm very regular when I eat like this? TMI? Thought so.

Lunch could be a salad with all sorts of toppings. Or veggies like grilled eggplant on my seed bread. I made tacos and used corn tortillas and filled them with beans and olives and avocado and salsa. I am also a tortilla chip addict. That should be known. I can't keep my head out of the bag of Kirkland Organic Tortilla Chips. One day I made a veggie roll up in romaine lettuce leaves. In addition to veggies, there was a seed "cheese" in there, which I didn't like (see below). And I was supposed to roll them veggies in a collard leaf, which I didn't have. The romaine wasn't the greatest substitute. Now I have collards so I guess I should try it again.

Dinners. I made a black bean stew that lasted for days and got spicer by the minute in the fridge. Eventually I had to throw it out because I was literally burning my lips off. I also made a kale and bean soup that was delish. I like soup. My family does not. I ate a lot of soup on my own. For many, many meals in a row. The other night I made spaghetti sauce and ate it with quinoa pasta, which tastes exactly like regular pasta. I was shocked. I also bought a few frozen Indian dinners that were gluten free and vegan. I love them. They stink while they're cooking. But I'm OK with it.

I had a few misses. One raw recipe calls for using jicama slices very thinly on a mandoline, which I actually bought for $10 several years ago at Marshalls, of all places. So you have these thin jicama slices and use it like a ravioli wrapper. You put a "cheese" made of ground sunflower seeds, pine nuts, lemon juice and Nama Shoyu. Unfortunately, I didn't like the flavor the Nama Shoyu gave the "cheese" so the whole thing flopped. I want to make it again and just leave out the Nama Shoyu. I'll get right on that.

For sweets, which I cannot do without, I ate dates. Medjool dates. I just bought a new container and they crappy Medjool dates and I'm tres unhappy about it. Snacks were things like raw walnuts and raisins, apples with peanut butter, rice crackers--don't get me started on how good Nut-Thins are. And, of course, popcorn. If being a gluten free vegan required forgoing popcorn, all would be lost.

So that's it. My latest freaky thing that I'm doing. I know. I'm a whack job.

I'm OK with it. But I'm not OK with the dates. Definitely not OK about that.

The Ups and Downs of Life as a 10-Year Old Boy

Pardon the lack of updates this week (I should probably say that every week). I've had a little friend home with me every day this week so far, with little end in sight.

As an aside, I had someone home with me for two days last week, as well. Actually, Eamonn was home with a sick kid one of those days while I went to work at the ski school.

Anyway, last week it was Finn; this week it's Declan.

A few weeks ago, the world was Declan's oyster. He had just turned 10 (OK, he was sick on his birthday, but he did finally have his party). He received a much longed for Nintendo DSi for his birthday (I'm totally addicted to doing sudoku on it--in fact, I'm taking a short break from writing this RIGHT NOW to play a game. Back in a sec.)

OK, I'm back. FYI, I'm frickin' slow at sudoku. I'd like to know how to pronounce that, incidentally. My Mom say SA-DUE-KO. How can that be right? Any experts in Japanese feel free to weigh in now. Anyway, I'm hoping that sudoku will keep me from getting Alzheimers anytime soon. I'm totally serious.

So, back to Declan.

His birthday. Great gift. Sleepover party once he wasn't sick. Etc.

And then, I don't think I ever wrote about this, he tried out for and made a statewide travel hockey team. Pretty exciting. It required travel to Denver for practice one weeknight a week and on Saturday/Sunday for six weeks. Then we were all heading to Vancouver for a week in late May for a big tournament.

We were all very excited. Practices were to start today.

But all winter, Declan hasn't really been 100%. Fatigue, one cold/upper respiratory infection after another, general grumpiness--he's a kid who needs more sleep than your average bear--he just wasn't quite right.

Ten days ago, as much as I hated to do it, we put him on antibiotics for what we thought was a sinus infection. He showed some improvement, but on the last day of the antibiotics, he started getting sick again. WTF? I barked at him that he clearly wasn't washing his hands well enough at school and then touching his T-zone. Duh! Why do you do that? Blah, blah, blah.

Sunday night brought on a low grade fever, raging sore throat, and spots on his tonsils.

Monday morning we went to the doctor and they tested for strep. But I had this nagging feeling. I asked how likely it could be that he had mono. The doctor said unlikely, but that they'd test.

Positive for mono.

Ugh.

Even though the doctor said he could play hockey--his age level doesn't check yet, and he's the goalie anyway--we decided to pull him out and forgo our trip to Vancouver. Great disappointment all around--Declan for not playing hockey with this great team, Finn for not going to Vancouver (specifically with his friend whose brother also made the team), and us for. . .let's face it, missing Vancouver. I was psyched to go there.

Another time.

So now we're waiting for Declan to stop hacking and sneezing so he can go back to school and not infect the entire student population. Will it be tomorrow? Friday? I don't know.

But I do know that a Nintendo DSi apparently makes one feel a lot better in the face of disappointment.

Perfect 10

Today was Declan's 10th birthday. And I can't believe it. I mean I can, but I can't. Which makes no sense whatsoever, I realize.

On Friday night, Declan was supposed to have a sleepover party with three friends. Unfortunately, in shades of last year, he was sick and we'll have to reschedule the party for next weekend.

Last year, Declan's birthday fell on a Friday. The last few days leading up to the party looked something like this:

Wednesday, March 25--drive to Denver for Finn's appointments on Thursday; go to museum; hang out in park; go to Chuck E. Cheese.

Thursday, March 26--wake up at hotel, massive snowstorm starting; drive to appointments; realize we are in a blizzard; search for and find a hotel that takes one hour to get to even though it is only five miles from where we are; remain trapped in hotel overnight.

Friday, March 27--Declan's birthday! Wake up at hotel to 18 inches of snow and frigid temperatures. Mommy eventually digs out the car and we make it home at lunchtime. . .right as Declan gets the stomach flu. He vomits for the rest of the day. He rallies around dinnertime to open presents, but that's pretty much it. Fortunately, his party is scheduled for a later date.

Here was this year's itinerary:

Tuesday, March 23--A giant snowstorm races through our valley and wallops Denver. We are scheduled to drive to Denver on Wednesday for Finn's appointments and to to an Avalanche game. Declan goes snowboarding with Tara and Garvin, but doesn't feel well. In a very sympathetic mood, we make him go to soccer practice. In the snow. When he comes home, we realize he has a fever.

Wednesday, March 24--We head out despite the inclement weather. Allegedly, all of the roads are open. And they are--most of the way. At one point we sit for 45 minutes as the result of an accident, but we finally make it to Denver an hour late. When we get there, three hours later, they can still see us because all of the Denver people cancelled their appointments. The only people who drove through the weather to keep their appointments? Us, a family from Avon (in our valley) and a family from Wyoming.

We picnic in the car and go to the Wings Over the Rockies Air and Space Museum. Very cool. Declan spends most of the time lying on a bench.

We go to the hotel, which is very nice, thank you American Cancer Society, and rest before going to the Avs game. We all enjoy the game, but Declan is clearly not himself.

Thursday, March 25--We drive home. That night, Declan has such a coughing attack, he vomits. We make the decision to cancel the Friday night sleepover party. Declan wonders if he is allergic to Denver.

Good sport that he is, he plays along with the friend Finn has for a sleepover instead (I had invited a friend for Finn to keep him occupied during the party, but the parents didn't get my message saying the party was off. . .). Now, with a little rest, we're hoping Declan is on the mend at last.

He's a good kid. And now he's 10.

Some pictures of our Denver adventure. . .

In the cockpit


With Bob, our tour guide in the cockpit


Big wheels


Skydivers


Marveling at our hotel


Finn meets Bernie the Avalanche dog during a bathroom break


The LA Kings warming up



We were up close and personal to the action--right behind the glass. We are very lucky to have friends who have such great seats and who generously hand the seats out when they can't use them!


Fight!


Celebrating an Avalanche goal!


This old-fashioned safe was on the same floor as our room. The safe was manufactured in Hamilton, Ohio, which is near where I went to grad school at Miami University in Oxford.


Birthday morning--Feeling better and opening presents.


Cutting his own cake

A little look back. . .

You are brand new:

First day home from the hospital. I wondered if the baby acne would ever go away.


It did.

You are 1:

You like cake.


You are So Big.


You like presents. You don't like to wear socks.

You are 2:

You love Thomas the Tank Engine.


You think Easter egg hunts are the greatest thing ever.


You play endlessly with the eggs. When you go to Grandma's house, you ask her to get out the "fragile eggs" from Italy. Being a Grandma, she says OK, and lets you play with the fragile eggs, even though you are 2.


You twist your hair when you drink your bottle at night. I still see you do this when you're mindlessly watching TV (and when you have hair).

You are 3:

You love Larry Boy. You are so adorably cute it breaks my heart.


However, you cannot endure our Happy Birthday singing.


Larry Boy seems panicked.

You are 4:

You get your first "big boy" bike.


You love to play Candyland. And you cheat while doing so.


You love Buzz Lightyear and all things Toy Story.


To infinity. . .and beyond!

You are 5:

You love Spider-Man.


Your birthday falls on Easter. You are still beyond cute. And yet you are also a stinker. You are somewhat challenging at this age.

You are 6:

We celebrate with Grandpa in Florida. You seemed so grown up. Looking back, not.


Your love of hockey and all things Blue Jackets is already years old.


Finn wears those socks now. And he has long outgrown that stick.

You are 7:

Your first birthday in Colorado. It was a hard adjustment. . .


. . .but you made lots of good friends.

You are 8:

You love Harry Potter.


You love to snowboard.


You shave your head in honor of your brother for the first time.

You are 9:

We go to Park City to visit your cousins for spring break and celebrate your birthday early with them. You still love snowboarding. You still love hockey.


You are sick on your actual birthday. You do manage to open your presents. Imagine that.


You have a group of friends we call The Posse. I try to envision you all in high school.

You are the Perfect 10:

Old enough to raise money for a good cause.


Emotionally tough enough to endure shootouts.


Young enough to be delighted by animals and puppies.


Old enough for some independence, but still young enough to be excited about birthdays and presents. And still young enough to ask for 10 kisses from your parents to celebrate being 10.