The Puck Stops Here

Yesterday was one of those days where you try your damndest to get a few things done to make your life easier in the coming weeks. Having completed most of the work to remediate our little problem, we're left with an empty, carpetless spare bedroom in desperate need of a coat of paint to cover the new bits of drywall. Only we hadn't painted anything since we moved in, so we soon discovered that we could not locate any of our painting supplies.

Solution: A trip to Canadian Tire!

Yeah, baby. Ukranian Tire. Crappy Tire. The CT Boutique. For the uninitiated, Canadian Tire is a glorified hardware store that can probably sell you 90% of the items you might want in life, excluding groceries and clothing (unless you want hip waders).

In a fit of rarely seen organization, I managed to remember my list, which included 9-Vole batteries, toilet seat hardware, child safety locks, and something I'd been meaning to pick up for some time: HOCKEY STICKS! Sadly, I can't find a link to the Canadian Tire commercial where the grandfather takes his grandson to pick out a stick or skates and runs into his arch rival and they nearly get into it right in the store.

My past life as a prairie boy meant that I couldn't avoid playing a certain amount of hockey, though most of it would be street, pond, and local community arena hockey. The result is that I can skate pretty well, stick handle a little, and I have an acceptable slapshot. But the last time played was five years ago, with a buddy back home on Boxing day, and we were both hampered by a bottle of Crown Royal chilling in a nearby snowbank, so I didn't exactly regain my finely-tuned skills. I have no skates, but the Toddler got some bobskates for Christmas last year, so hopefully we can find some outdoor ice this year (or find a public skate nearby).

The new neighbourhood light on traffic but is chock full of kids. There are basketball hoops at the curb and hockey nets strewn about, much like I would see growing up. But we had no sticks, and I thought it would be good to pick some up in case a shinny game broke out on the block.

Half an hour and $70 later (only $40 of my own money as I had about a 2" wad of Canadian Tire Money) and I had four sticks, one for each of us, and two bright orange hockey balls. I would learn later that day that The Lovely Wife shoots left, as does the Toddler, though in the case of the latter I wouldn't have to exchange the stick because it has a flexible plastic blade (like a floor hockey stick). We still don't know if Younger Son shoots right or left, but based on his use of the stick so far, it must be delicious.

I figured the hockey stick would be a hit, but I never dreamed I'd be using it to lure him out of bed in the morning (The Toddler's been more like The Teenager when it comes to rising and shining). But it worked, and for anyone who's ever had to try to motivate a sleepy toddler, I will shamelessly use this tactic until it no longer works. He's crazy about it. At the best playground in the city this morning, he only wanted to play hockey on the sidewalk instead of sliding on any of the dozen or so slides.

And the best part? He probably thinks his old man is like freakin' Gretzky. Sometimes fatherhood is so cool.

Day 5

Posted bythemikestand at 2:26 PM  

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