A Tale of Two Bobbies

Toby loves hockey; we all know that. It is played at our house (and Grandma’s house) all year round; outdoors in the winter, indoors in the summer. His dollar store hockey sticks and official Canada hockey sticks and gloves from my sister and niece were second only in Christmas present ranking to his plastic scissors.

As a result of these new sticks, hockey has become increasingly prominent in the past few weeks. As his knowledge of the game increases, so too does his knowledge of hockey teams and players.

The other day he was eating lunch and he announced that he was “Number 99. I’m Gretzky. I’m the GREAT one.” Often when we’re playing hockey he will divide us up into teams. This is how the teams go: someone is Canada, someone is Gretzky and someone is Bobby – Hull or Orr. (His alphabet hockey book taught him about them for the letter 'B') I always hope to be Bobby Orr because, despite the remarkable language skills that he has, he still has difficulty with words that start with a vowel. So Bobby Orr is always pronounced, “Bobby WHORE”.

I know I should correct him, but it’s just too funny to always be told, “Mommy, you’re Bobby WHORE” in his matter-of-fact-I’m-very-serious-don’t-mess-with-me-tone. Oh, the stories I have to tell him when he gets older…

Is there an elephant in the post? Allow me to address it : no, there is no baby yet. Yes, I am still pregnant, and cranky, and impatient and bored. My attempts at putting a positive spin on things have somewhat petered out and I'm now embracing my (now post dates) irritation with a vengance. So...stay tuned for happy news or vulgar posts!