Lipstick and hockey sticks: A girly Mom's guide to faking your way through kids hockey season

It's not easy being a skirt in a home chalk-full of rancid jocks.  But I've managed to get by.  You see, as the lone double X in a chromosomal pool of 4 XYs (5 if I include the dog), my interests in home decor, Fall fashions, beach-wave hair and pedis get buried somewhere underneath a pile of mismatched tube-socks, baseball gloves, goalie pads and Under Armour everything.  Don't get me wrong, I love being active.  I'm a daily exerciser, I enjoy 9-holes of golf and just finished up another summer season on a ladies ball-hockey team - and I literally still have no idea what the rules are (icing to me means confectioners sugar, butter and milk).

I do my best at faking my way through "sporty" - just as Brittany Spears fakes her way through "talented" and "singing".  Pretending to love sports gives me a valid excuse to get out of the house for an hour each week to pursue an activity that my kids might actually care to inquire about.  "How was ball-hockey, Mom? Did you score?" is a guaranteed conversation whereas I've never heard them say, "Tell me about your latest HomeSense purchase for the entryway, Mom!!"

Teachable Parenting Moment:
I'm connecting with my kids by abandoning my kids to participate in activities loved by my kids - it's a very complex parenting technique.  Look it up.

Quick math:
Hockey season is September through April.  8 long months.  5 times per week, times multiple children = approximately -10 billion hours of me-time I'll never get back.

Yes, children's competitive hockey season is just around the corner, which means I'll be stick-handling my way through get-to-know-ya parent socials and putrid locker rooms where the stench of sports-drink belches and pre-pubescent b.o. hang thicker than a flu-season booger.

Be warned - if this is your first year doing the "where am I" zombie walk through an arena with a kids hockey bag slung over one shoulder and a Michael Kors bag slung over the other, you are going to need to know some basic techniques to survive an entire minor hockey season.  I'm here to help because I know exactly how to fake it like a champ in the stands.  "Woohoo!!!!!!!  Let's Go (insert team name and ringing of obnoxious cowbell here)!!!!!"

First off, know your arena parent archetypes: "Diehard Mom", "Loudmouth I-almost-played-in-the-NHL Dad", "Angry Grandma", "Annoying Little Sibling" and token, "Enraged Parent From Other Team".  Of course there are also ones like "Nicest Mom Ever" and "Funniest Dad in Town", but they're not as fun to write about.  (In case you're wondering, most parents would peg me as "Anti-social Suspiciously-overdressed Bi*&h"....haha...I think?).

There will be "Diehard Moms" everywhere - usually the louder they are, the less time they spend on personal grooming.  The side-pony and sweatpants are a dead-giveaway.  So is a homemade scarf in junior's team colours.  Two options - stay clear of this broad or go all in and buddy-up.  There's no in-between.

"Loudmouth Glory Days Dad" can usually be seen standing up at the back of the arena holding court surrounded by newbie hockey Dads who are eagerly lapping up all of the made up nonsense this guy is spewing.  Although his total level of expertise amounts to 30 minutes on his community college hockey team, he thinks he's Scotty Bowman (disclaimer: I had to google "best NHL hockey coaches" to find out it's this Scotty guy).  This Dad is also known in arena circles as "Conspiracy Theory Dad" as he often spends the whole game analyzing why each kid is playing the position they're playing - and it's always because of some fictional favouritism involving league officials, a paving contract, sponsorship money and a fast-food wing restaurant.  Trust me.

"Angry Grandma" has more than a bee in her bonnet - more like a hive of venomous wasps in her Spanx.  There's one on every team.  Don't let her jeggings and cashmere sweater fool you, this woman has a perma hate-on for the Refs. The cleanest goal in kids hockey by the opposing team will inevitably result in an arena-silencing screech of, "Clear your visor Ref - are you blind?  Are you a moron?  Are you stupid?" Followed by a guttural, "TAKE THEM DOWN" at the next face-off.   The pimply-faced 16-year old time-keeper had best put up the right scores if he values his life, or the paint-job on his Dad's Toyota Previa in the parking lot will pay the price.

"Annoying Little Sibling" is not only self-explanatory, but likely your youngest child so I won't expand on this other than to say, nobody has to pee, or drink every 7 minutes.  Nobody.

Now the one person you never want to make eye contact with, engage with, smile at or hold a door for, is "Enraged Parent From Other Team" (EPFOT).  This parent is looking for more than equal ice-time, they're looking for blood.  Not kidding.  You will contact me the minute you see this piece of work in action.  Usually bloated and generally agitated, this parent chirps and chimes-in loudly throughout the game escalating to new levels of rude and raucous until the middle of the second period.  Their team could be winning 5-0 or losing 5-0, it doesn't matter, EPFOT wants you to know, that they will not stand by and simply enjoy kids playing minor hockey or having fun.  They crave a little parent-to-parent MMA action and will push. your. buttons. until. you. cannot. take. it. anymore.  That's when you may feel yourself slipping into a defensive Diehard Mom/Angry Grandma combo.  Don't take the bait.  Stay cool - which is why I perpetually underdress for the arena temperatures.  It's a strategy - tights and a thin blouse are not just for fashion, they're for survival.  No jacket - ever.

Finally, the best way to fake your way, unenthusiastically through the mind and butt numbing hours of hockey season, is to just lay low, fly below the radar, keep your head down and hold a phone to your ear while nodding vigorously - the ol' "I'm on an important call" routine.  Works like a charm.
Before you know it, it's April - you survived, and best of all, nobody noticed that you still don't know anyone's name on the team, what division your kid's in, or when tryouts are.  As a bonus, you brought an elevated sense of style with your high-heeled boots and pashmina to an otherwise bland arena setting and you never resorted to eating a wilted week-old Jamaican patty from the vending machine.

I'd say you're looking pretty good for a skirt!  Congrats!

Let me know how you make out.....

Kasie