I never knew I wanted to like hockey so much. I didn't grow up with it. But it sure felt natural last weekend when John and I were walking back from a park, sticks over our shoulders and skates in a bag, after an hour of skating and practicing on some ice in a small town in Minnesota.
Last night, the mites practiced under the full moon on the outdoor rink, again at about 10 below, then staggered into the warming shack, steaming and with runny noses. As the parents took off their skates (and it's moments like that one that make it clearer to me how hockey players get the idea that the world revolves around them), the kids took off their helmets. About two minutes later, most of them grabbed their ears and about half of them began to cry. As their ears thawed, tears ran down their faces and they bit their lips. John put his head back as I wrestled with his laces and whimpered, eyes wet. Yet another thing to buy; an ear warmer.