Hello! It's nice to see you again! Chumbercules is 4.5 now and Cthulhu is 2.5. The littlest one is a menace, I tell you, but my own personal hell is currently other people's parents. Specifically three dads out there. You know who you are.
Chumby decided he wanted to play hockey. They start hockey 1 at 4 around these parts, so I signed him up. I had to go get him outfitted last week so he would be ready to be on the ice at 5:30 last night. The desk where our local ice rink has the equipment is located in a back corner near a bunch of broken video games that your (or at least my) children whine constantly about wanting to play. So that was the first part of my fun. There were two women waiting with their kids and two kids were being fitted when we got there. There wasn't really a line, but people were jumbled a bit near the front.
Enter: Some Dude. I need you all to know that I HATE people who cut in lines. I get that your time is more valuable to you than mine is, but I may stab you if you push me far enough. Don't cut in lines. Seriously. Don't do it. I knew he was going to cut. I watched him come in and thought, "that mother fucker is going to cut in front of me." So I tried to keep Chumb near me and near the front, but no! Video games! Lights! Fake guns! Fun to be had even though I wouldn't give him any money! So, of course, when it was nearing our turn, little dude ran the opposite way and Some Dude sent his kid around to be fitted. First, I got Chumb, then I loudly declared, "What the Fuck?" Then some Behemoth of a Man (he was like a 9 foot tall brick wall. Put him between Texas and Mexico and that could prevent any border crossings, both authorized and unauthorized) with a thick east coast accent who declared, "Watch your mouth in front of the kids." And I, because I am an adult, burst into tears. "I'm sorry!" I cried, "I've just had a really rough day!" Which was a total lie. My day was awesome. I scored tickets for The Flaming Lips and my boss's boss told me how much I'm killing it at this whole work thing.
Then I went up to Some Dude and the poor young woman who was about to start fitting his son and I said, "So, is there any kind of order to this or are we just fitting people however? We were here before you." And the young woman looked at me all giant-eyed and shrugged and Some Dude said something like, "Sorry. I didn't see you." The fuck he didn't. At this point, it's too late to get a refund and just say to hell with hockey, so I said, "Come on, Chumbercules. We are going to go home." And, like mother like son, he, too, burst into tears and declared, through his sobs, "But I want to play hockey!" Honestly, I just figured we would come back on another day to get him outfitted, but then Some Dude pulled his kid out and the staff fitted Chumby super fast. All this time, Cthulhu was messing with the video games and having a great time.
Last night was the first practice. I picked my tiny turleys up from daycare and had them to the rink by 4:30 for a 5:30 practice. I planned ahead and made sandwiches and stuff for them so they could have an early dinner. But, once again, so many new and exciting things were happening all around! Fuck food! So they nibbled a bit then went to go look at the video games. At 5:00 is when I learned I was supposed to provide a helmet. For some reason, it wasn't on the paper work and nobody thought to tell me that and it wasn't obvious to me. Because I'm an indoor kid. So, while I was trying to get Chumb fitted for his helmet, Cthulhu disappeared once again.
I got Chumb his $53 hockey helmet, found Cthulhu, and got them down to the changing area. Me, being all unprepared and disorganized, I never practiced dressing Chumb in his hockey gear at all before the first practice. And he wore jeans yesterday. We were just grossly unprepared all the way around. Then, while I was trying to get Chumb dressed while seeing what other people did, Cthulhu grabbed a kid's skate and took off with it. So then I had to stop and go find him. Luckily, moms tend to be more sympathetic about kids being their natural dick-ish selves than Some Dudes are. So, I secured the toddler, Coach called everyone together, Chumb was only half dressed. Another coach came to help him while I held Cthulhu and tried to listen to the coach. But, this tiny son of a me has never enjoyed being restrained. He hated being swaddled when he was a baby and did not want me to hold him last night. So he screamed and tried to kick me while some other kid's dad kept giving me the side eye periodically. I wish I had studied under the tutelage of Pai Mei because I would have snatched that stink eye right out of his face. But I didn't. So I didn't.
Chumby finally got on the ice and Cthulhu decided this was an excellent time to try to sneak onto the ice through any door that opened and to climb the bleachers using other people as hand rails and all sorts of awesome behavior that is in no way embarrassing at all. And I know what you're thinking, "What do you expect when you name your kid after a cosmic entity who has driven people insane merely from them gazing upon his statue?" I know. And I regret that decision nearly every day. This is what happens when you let your ex name your kid. (That's another story.)
Anyway, we finally made it off the ice and back home. And I went to bed at 8:30 because it was officially "fuck this shit" o'clock. And I was exhausted from trying to wrangle my tiny terrorist. Sadly, daycare closes at 5:30 and there is no one else to take Cthulhu during that time. So, next time, I am going to bring his stroller and just strap him in and bring him some toys and books and let him cry if he wants to. And, in the mean time, I'll practice my eye pluck technique so I can prepare myself for future side eyes.
In closing, I would like you all to know that hell is other people's parents.
