Annie the Tooth Got Whacked

Many moons ago, at a different place and time in life, there was a little baby girl who commanded all of Mr. Mom's and Mrs. Dad's attention. She was the only game in town and she knew it. She has been relatively good at sharing our attention since giving way to two brothers, but ol' Mr. Mom does remember those days when there was nothing else on the agenda other than playing with this little girl. No school, no soccer, no dance, no competing siblings, .....

It was during this time that the don of FroFamily, Inc. decided that this little girl should inherit a mafioso moniker. The don, being of questionable mind and minimal cleverness, worked with what he had, which at that time consisted of an effervescent smile, a jubilant personality, a flair for cheesy faces, and one big front-and-center top row tooth. Using the obvious, the don christened this little angel to be "Annie the Tooth".

For several weeks/months, Annie the Tooth was true to this name. That one singular tooth hung in there as the lone white light in a sea of saliva. Eventually, and predictably, it was joined by other pearly whites, but Annie the Tooth she would continue to be.

That is .... until Sunday 1/22/12 when Annie the Tooth got whacked. That big, beautiful, original tooth now sleeps with the fishes, and all that is left is a gaping hole in A's mouth.

Ciao Annie the Tooth. We'll miss ya.

Hockey Day Hopkins

For all of you not in-the-know, Saturday 1/21/12 was deemed Hockey Day Minnesota by Fox Sports North. This brilliant marketing scheme has allowed a regional television station to manufacture a "holiday" to celebrate hockey. Mr. Mom is a big hockey fan. Plus, three cheers for capitalism. So, good for FSN in coming up with this idea. But the marketing blitz surrounding this day can be a little much at times for those of us sports fans out there who are listening to sports talk radio all day. Especially for a sports fan like Mr. Mom, who grew up in a repressed, unfortunate land where, last I checked, was still part of Minnesota, but alas hockey was not part of the local culture/vernacular. Regardless, this Hockey Day Minnesota idea works for Mr. Mom on several levels, and this year, one member of FroFamily, Inc. got directly involved.

Our incomparable B had his regular Saturday morning Mini-Mites hockey practice on Saturday at 8:40 a.m. A little early on a Saturday for Mr. Mom's taste, considering the prep time required by B to get dressed, eat breakfast, get to the rink, and suit up. But B is truly loving hockey, so it is more than worth it. Plus, if we didn't get him there, there would be no way we could stay in the running for the coveted Parents of the Year award.

As usual to start off the day, the kids have about 10 minutes of free skating to get warmed up and let the stragglers get dressed and onto the ice. Then Coach Chad blows the whistle and the kids all skate/coast/slide/crawl in to the pre-practice huddle at center ice. On this day however, Coach Chad tells his group of nodding and enthusiastic 5-6 year olds about Hockey Day Minnesota, and that they will be a part of this special day by helping a team warm-up this morning in preparation for a big game later that afternoon. This appeared to receive only mild interest from the kids until Coach Chad told them that, after practice, they could go home and watch this team's big game on TV. Now we're cookin'. Someone they know on TV? What could be better?

So, the curiosity of the Mini-Mites is piqued. Who is this team? We can watch them on TV? We could someday get on TV for being hockey players? This is greatest thing to hear since last night's "Who wants desert?" The Mini-Mites begin to do some practice drills and fight against their collective ADD by randomly looking around the arena to see if anything is going on off the ice. Then, through the doors of the arena walks in a group of high school boys coming from a bus. It is the #1 ranked Duluth East Greyhounds, last year's state tournament runner-up. The Hounds head into the locker room to change and the Mini-Mites start doing their drills with an added fervor. Then, with about 10 minutes left in practice, the Hounds take the ice and start flying around the rink. The mouths of the Mini-Mites drop and they watch in awe for a moment before they remember they are in the middle of practice themselves.

Coach Chad blows the whistle to signal another center ice huddle, and the little Hopkins Mini-Mites find themselves shoulder-to-shoulder, or should I say shoulder-to-waist, with these high school boys. Hounds Coach Randolph says hello to the Mini-Mites and off they all go to play in one of the most chaotic hockey scenes ever imagined. Pucks everywhere. 5-year-olds trying to score on fully uniformed high school goalies. Mini-Mites passing back and forth with 17-year-olds. 40-inch tall kids doing face-offs with 6 ft.+ giants. Simply terrific. Every face in the arena (coaches, high school players, Mini-Mites, and parents alike) had a huge smile on it. Not to wax nostalgic, but hopefully this is exactly what FSN had in mind when spearheading this Hockey Day Minnesota concept.

Too bad those nice kids from Duluth lost to the hated Minnetonka Skippers later that day. But, at least I hope they take to heart that they made a good impression on our little B and that they probably had about 25 extra Mini-Mite viewers for the game, most of which I'm sure would not have had watching a hockey game on their radar screen for that day when they woke up in the morning.

Good stuff. Plus, someone brought doughnuts for the kids for after practice. Double nice.

The Bieber, The Flock of Seagulls, The Billy Ray Cyrus, 1986 Hair Band, ... What's A Boy To Do?

So many hairstyle choices, so little time. Our boys have been working with an image consultant to find the right look for them. Not too flashy. Not too lame. Just the right amount of cool without saying, "Hey, look at me." Obviously Mr. Mom's typical greasy several-days-between-shower coif and his ever-receding hairline is of no use when looking for an example, so why not come up with their own look that works for them.

B loves to do some spiking after getting out of the bath. Classic stand-straight-up on the top, down on the sides. None of the head-caught-in-a-tornado look of today's youth. However, B does try some pretty original ideas. The other morning he came downstairs with his bangs wetly matted to his forehead while everything else was dry and normal looking. It was definitely original and clever, but unfortunately in a creepy sort of way.

C prefers the all out crazy hair, where every strand is poking straight out as far as possible, ala the I-have-my-hand-on-the-Van de Graaff-generator-at-the-science-museum look. But, C is pretty committed to the bit once he decides that today is a "hair-day". Ergo, the following anecdote.

A few weeks ago, it was one of those days when B was in front of the mirror before we left for school. He was doing some styling, sans product. This is o.k. with Mr. Mom because when it dries, it falls back to normal and we can go about our day without harm. However, this particular day, C is all-in on having crazy hair because B made it look so cool. So, along side B, we get C's hair a little wet and comb it up, with the thought that when it dries, it will fall down to normal and we can move on.

Big Mistake. When we got to school, Mr. Mom and B had already forgotten about the at-home hair styling session of the morning. However, C was apparently still committed to it. Unbeknownst to Mr. Mom, when C was in the bathroom alone doing his before school handwashing and fighting the evil germ monsters, he was also using the water from the sink to re-style his hair because it had fallen down when it dried as previously predicted. Only instead of using just water, ..... he used handsoap from the nearby dispenser to give it that extra hold he really needed. When I go in to check on him, there he stands, bubbles all over his head and hair sticking out all over, smiling like the proudest little boy ever. After a pretty big belly laugh, I wrestle his head under the faucet for, what turned out to be, a pretty traumatic rinse. Nothing like an impromptu bathing of a 3-year-old in a bathroom sink to start your day.