I'd say it was much ado about nothing. But that's not quite the case. It was something, but it was not the thing we thought it was. That was good ... painful, but good.
Last Thursday morning I was busy writing when I heard a small voice call, "Mooommmm ... I need you." and I found Lillie curled up on the floor at the top of the stairs. "My stomach hurts right here," and she pointed to her lower right abdomen. "It hurts so bad I can't stand up."
After hemming and hawing, Ross took her to the emergency room for what we were sure was to be an appendectomy. 7 hours later they were back home. No appendectomy. It was a ruptured cyst. For which they could do nothing. The worst was over and my girl spent the next couple of days recuperating.
All's well that ends well. Another cliche we can attribute to Shakespeare and one I like much better than the opener.
Mar 11, 2013
Mar 6, 2013
The End Of An Era
It ended with as little fanfare as it began.
Seven years ago I peeled out of a church service. Drove to Rockville and watched my girl skate around the ice like a baby giraffe; unsure of her legs and wobbly in all the parts of her body. Last weekend, we packed her back into our trusty steed (the gold minivan of her whole hockey career) and played the last game for the foreseeable future.
She lost the baby giraffe look long ago. Now she is commanding in net, sure of her body and how to use it to keep the other team from collecting points. She can't stop everything, but she can do quite a bit.
It's been a long strange trip, involving thousands of miles, camps each summer and an endless routine of practice, games, tryouts and training.
Her father photographed most of it. I was fortunate to manage a couple of her teams; so you could say, I managed about half of it. Managing was another round of form collecting, e-mails, information distribution.
We are all both sad that this is over and excited to see what is in store for us next. I, honestly, never thought it would last this long. I didn't know then the firey passion that could bloom in ice.
It is the end of a family era. One we enjoyed and even loved. Whatever will we do now?
Seven years ago I peeled out of a church service. Drove to Rockville and watched my girl skate around the ice like a baby giraffe; unsure of her legs and wobbly in all the parts of her body. Last weekend, we packed her back into our trusty steed (the gold minivan of her whole hockey career) and played the last game for the foreseeable future.
She lost the baby giraffe look long ago. Now she is commanding in net, sure of her body and how to use it to keep the other team from collecting points. She can't stop everything, but she can do quite a bit.
It's been a long strange trip, involving thousands of miles, camps each summer and an endless routine of practice, games, tryouts and training.
Her father photographed most of it. I was fortunate to manage a couple of her teams; so you could say, I managed about half of it. Managing was another round of form collecting, e-mails, information distribution.
We are all both sad that this is over and excited to see what is in store for us next. I, honestly, never thought it would last this long. I didn't know then the firey passion that could bloom in ice.
It is the end of a family era. One we enjoyed and even loved. Whatever will we do now?
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