I was carefully navigating the route to my daughter’s hockey game in a white golf cart. My son was experiencing difficulty keeping her hockey equipment on the cart and I suggested he just drag it on its wheels alongside the golf cart. I had my own troubles. I was really worried we wouldn’t get to the game on time because my daughter wasn’t in the golf cart with us. I was trying to find her along the way to her hockey game… in the golf cart.
I know what you’re thinking. “What is she smoking?”
Don’t worry. It was only a dream.
You see, hockey has been such an all-consuming activity in my life that it often invades my subconscious and becomes the backdrop to some pretty interesting dreams and nightmares. Is it not bad enough that hockey moms (well, all moms, really) are already so chronically sleep-deprived because of kids and hockey? Then to have the precious sleep we do get, hijacked by hockey as well?! Sweet dreams are made of weird.
I know I’m susceptible to weird dreams. Almost thirty years after graduating from university, I still have that recurring dream of being totally lost on my way to a final exam for a course that I have not attended all semester. And I’m naked.
But why am I having hockey nightmares? I like hockey! And I’m not just talking about those dreams about being locked out of a hotel room with nothing but a towel (because my kids would do that on purpose!).
For several of my hockey years, both my boys were goalies and I carpooled with the other goalie mom. Big mistake. This arrangement resulted in many nightmares where I had taken both team goalies to the wrong rink, not realizing my mistake until two minutes before game time and I had no idea how to even get to the other arena.
How many dreams have you had as a hockey mom where you’re late to the game and then wake up in a complete panic believing you really are late to the game… a game that doesn’t in fact start for another eight hours.
And of course there’s the one where I go to throw the sticks in the back of the van and it seems every goalie stick we own is made of some floppy rubber material.
In my book Offside by a Mile – Confessions of a Hockey Mom, I write about volunteering for the team fundraiser at the local bingo hall. Completely traumatized by fanatical bingo hall ladies whose superstitions rival the most maniacal goalie, I still experience fitful nights of sleep that conclude with me bolting out of bed, yelling, “Bingo!”
And just last weekend I had a nightmare that my two boys drank all my Fireball whiskey. Oh wait. That really happened. Sigh.
I think it’s time for me to invest in a sleep-aid sound machine –preferably one that does not emit the goal buzzer every once in awhile!
Three cheers for a hockey mom’s good night’s sleep – may
yours be nightmare-free!
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