The Cheese Party: I Know How Sarah Palin Ended Up Crazy

One word: HOCKEY

Last year we signed Sam up with the local ice hockey team. He was a mini-mite and basically it was a year-long learn to skate/play hockey instructional thing, with no real competition. There was practice on Mondays and home "games" every other Saturday. It was a manageable schedule for us, he had a lot of fun and learned some basic skills.

This year at sign ups we kept him at the same level and added Lucy to the roster. Sam had made big improvments from the beginning of last year, but we didn't think he was quite ready for the mites, who play real games against other teams and such. Also, since he hadn't been on the ice since March, we thought his skills may have slipped over the summer.

After only a few short weeks, though, we realized we were wrong.

Plus, many of the kids his age had decided to move up, leaving him a towering giant over the three and four year old mini-mites. He would fall over his own feet and take half a dozen of them down with him. We decided to let him try a practice with the mites, and of course he loved it. So we decided to move him up.

And then we got the schedule. (Cue terrifying music!)

Instead of one night a week, Sam now has practice two nights a week. And one weekend morning a week. And instead of having scrimmages at our home ice every other weekend, he has real games against other teams at rinks far, far away. Every weekend. Oh, and Lucy is still playing on the mini-mites, so she's at the rink one night a week, and every other weekend. Plus we are already scheduled for two tournaments, one Thanksgiving weekend and one between Christmas and New Years.

In case you lost count, we're at an ice rink somewhere in the tri-state area four or five times per week. Even though I kinda knew what we were getting ourselves into, it may make me crazy.

Not crazy enough to shoot animals from a helicopter, but almost.