Our hockey room
Have I written about my hockey room before? When we did construction on our house, almost 20 years ago — yikes 20 years, where did that go? — we had the chance to add a basement to the plans. Should we? Shouldn’t we? My mom convinced us that we should. And it was our best decision ever.
For years, our basement was the “hockey room.” Technically, it is called knee hockey, but whatever it was called, on many a Shabbos evening the hockey room smelled like boy. Febreze was a great invention. Vacuum and then spray, spray, spray….fresh as a daisy again (or whatever scent I had bought at the time).
Broken sticks were easily replaced at FiveBelow, and life was simple. Boys are easy that way. Some snacks, water bottles, sticks, and balls. We survived without any injuries, for the most part, and the investment I had made in the carpet was totally worth it. It was also totally worth it when the basement flooded, but that is another column.
And then the boys grew up and the sticks gathered dust and the memories remained.
And then it was 2020. The hockey room transformed into a “Room of Learning,” or the “beis” as my Oreos called it. Tables and chairs and seforim galore. There was still some hockey-playing going on because how much can you learn without the temptation of playing your brothers in hockey?
Despite their opinions, I did not let them take down any of the posters or pennants that hang proudly on those walls, marking the times and the stadiums we had been to. The summer that Son #1 made me hang up the teams in division order. The fatheads of Brodeur and Lundqvist. Really good times.
And then Strudel came into the picture. The tables and chairs were put away (except for one, where Husband #1 still sits and learns) and out came the toys. A doll house, a little kitchen, the boys’ old little tykes tool bench situation that now holds musical instruments, and the few tools that survived their childhood. A doll bassinet/changing table. You get the picture. And the arts and crafts section that houses the little yellow table and two chairs that my brother and I used to play on when we were little. Plastic really holds up well.
Stored on the “bench” that the boys used to sit on when they would wait for their turn to play hockey are now boxes of crayons and markers, dot paint and crafting supplies…all marking time again.
Sometimes I sit on the rocking chair that my grandmother bought for me when Son #1 was born and I watch Strudel and her sisters play, and I can’t figure out where the time is all going. Thinking I am still 16, feeling like I am 85, and looking somewhere in between. As long as I can still get up from the floor after playing with my cuties, all is good and thank God.
And now I am back in the Holy Land with Danish and her sisters and Matzo Ball. As I write this, I have been here for only 24 hours and I slept, fortunately, for nine of those. When you take the afternoon flight from Newark, and land in Israel at 7 a.m., and don’t sleep on the plane, that day feels very long. I think I fell asleep before 7:30 p.m. I know, why I am telling you this unimportant information — why not? It’s my column and I will bore you if I want to.
Matzo Ball, who is named after my dad, is truly a bundle of joy. Is it weird that I call him “little daddy?” Have any of you who have grandchildren named for your parents felt this way?
On a lighter note, for the past two years I have been lucky enough to go to an animal show with DIL #2 and her girls. This year, her mom is also here, and I took Matzo Ball along. And in true Babka style, the little kids around us were being pushy and trying to put a chair on top of Matzo Ball’s stroller and I felt like they were all closing in on us, so I looked at DIL #2 and said, “I love you, but I have to go now,” and I pushed my way out of the auditorium.
It figures the only woman there not covering her hair or wearing stockings would leave the show early.
And that is all for now.
Banji Ganchrow of Teaneck needs to tell all of her readers that Husband #1 fixed the flusher in their toilet and forgot to mention it last week. She is very proud of him.