When I realized this weekend that my husband had to take Bud to hockey last night I knew it was going to be a fiasco (and you did too if you read yesterday’s post) but I didn’t know to what extent!
The ice complex has a couple of rinks so it’s always busy when we go but last night they could barely get in the door. Apparently it was Picture Night…for every level!! They got there at the normal time, which was way too late for picture night! After making their way to the end of the line (at the other end of the building) and fishing out an order form, he called me to ask what picture package we wanted. (We decided to get wallet size only.) (I knew you were curious what we decided.) (You’re welcome.)
(Side note: Bud is 5. I think I have more professional picture of him then I’ve ever had done in my whole life! Between all the nursery school programs he’s attended (2 different ones just last year alone) and all the sports he’s been involved in, and with all the extras left over (because how many people can I give a picture to in the same year) I could make a photo collage to cover the outside of our house. Our house is about 3000 square feet.)
After we got off the phone, they continued waiting on the incredibly long line. They were still way back and Babe started saying “I gotta go, I gotta go” meaning she had to go to the bathroom...now. Not about to lose his spot in line he told Bud to stay put (yes, I freaked out in my head when he told me this) and took Babe to the bathroom. So he’s holding her over the toilet (I didn’t ask if he put paper down on the seat, sometimes it just better not knowing) and she won’t go. He asked her if she was done and she said “no” (it’s important to trust her on this) so he kept holding her there and finally he realized she’s pooping…and there’s no toilet paper left in the stall!
(Excuse me while I laugh hysterically for a moment.) (Ok, I’m better now.) (Wait, no I’m not. Still laughing….) (Ok, I’m not snorting anymore so I think I can keep typing now.)
I’m not exactly sure what he did to rectify the situation and I, again, think it’s better that I don’t know. There was no feces stuck to her posterior when I returned home so I’m going to call that a success.
They finally made their way through the line and got on the ice…just in time for the Zamboni doors to open and send the kids clambering off the ice…except my son. He thought he could outskate the Zamboni. My 5 year old son. My five year old son that comes up to my hip. My 5 year old son that is just learning to skate. My 5 year old son that has a Superman complex. Sigh.
After some frantic arm waving by my husband he finally convinced Bud to get off the ice. I don’t think the Zamboni driver would have run him over or anything…on purpose…but I don’t put it past Bud to get too close on purpose. I prefer my son not to become a frozen pancake, thank you very much.
Which brings me to my next point. I have a life goal of riding on a Zamboni someday. I don’t know how I’m going to make this happen but it’s my eternal quest. Coincidentally, my husband has a guy in his training class that is a former NHL Zamboni driver. Neither me, nor my husband can figure out why he would stop driving a Zamboni to come work in Central NY for the phone company. Oh, and the guy is also an opera singer. I think I’d like to meet this guy.