The Beginning...

My little baby boy. What a precious gift. He was HUGE as a newborn. Almost 10 pounds. We named him Sean.

By the time he could walk he was kicking a ball. When he could talk, one of his first words was "football". At about 2 years old he was throwing a football and hitting tiny pucks in the livingroom.

At age 3, his first skating experience. He didn't want to touch the ice. His skates were so tiny. He spent 5 weeks of lessons being pushed on a chair by his dad. It was so sweet but a waste of money.

Ever since he could walk he's been shooting pucks. He's been collecting hockey equipment. He has hockey sticks in varying lengths numbering in the double digits. He's LOST more pucks than I've seen on the ice at NHL warm ups. He watches hockey of all kinds...doesn't matter who's playing.

Christmas, age 4: Hockey skates and 6 weeks of lessons. He got out on that ice and it was almost as if he'd been born wearing skates. He was gliding while the others were marching. He took off for the other end of the ice on the second week. He heads right for the crease everytime. Six weeks of Learn to Skate 1, Hockey 2, and an instructional hockey program and now he's finishing a summer 3 on 3 cross ice league.

I didn't start out wanting to be a hockey mom. In fact, I was pretty much against it. It's so expensive and time consuming. How about soccer, I said. We tried that but it didn't last. He LOVES hockey. And I spend two nights a week at the rink for a couple hours. We drive 45 minutes to a state of the art training facility. I put up with pucks and sticks pretty much EVERYWHERE in the house. There's even a few dings in my car.

I'm a hockey mom...I'm HIS hockey mom....

and I wouldn't have it any other way.