The other unbeatable feeling that came with morning practices- leaving the rink at 8 or 9am with a weird feeling in your limbs from leaving the cold rink and going into warmer weather, and already having accomplished so much in the day- that definitely deserved a celebratory donut. Grey used to feel the same way.
I was finding it was just as fun to do the morning run as a parent and experiencing it again through his little eyes.
I marched up the bleachers to my usual spot and wrapped my Griffins blankets around myself before taking my seat on the metal bleachers.
I sipped my coffee and waved to a couple other moms dotting the bleachers.
I was already a fan of this team. It seemed like everyone was enjoying their own little peace and they were only interested in their own kid. I’d been around the rink long enough to know that in a month or two the screamer or obnoxious bragger or ice time complainer would come through the woodworks. I would enjoy the peace for now though.
As soon as the zam left the ice, the rink’s peaceful hum was the only sound that could be heard.
Our little guys finally started to appear through the locker room doors. A couple rugrats were struggling to open the door.
Smitty bobbled over to them, play shoving them out of the way, and got the job done.
I had to smile to myself. It was really unbelievable that these troublemakers, the ones who were once written up by rink management for running a locker boxing tournament complete with a by-in and winning jackpot, were the ones running a team of little kids.
Canyon zoomed onto the ice then, being chased by Troy. I wondered if Canyon would become a little troublemaker one day. He was so innocent right now, my little angel. I supposed that all troublemaker’s moms thought their children were angels as well though.
Greyson, the last to exit the locker room, dumped a bucket of pucks onto the ice, and stepped out, closing the rink’s door behind him.
It became pretty clear that Grey had taken the head coach role and Smitty fell into assisting.
Grey took command of the practices. He’d have all the boys kneeling in front of him talking, while Smitty would demonstrate what he was saying to do.
After watching Canyon’s turn at running a drill, I found my eyes glued to Grey.
I noticed he looked curious and a bit awkward holding his stick only with his left hand. I’d watched enough games to pretty much memorize his stance, stride, and shot. I could pick him out of a lineup any day. He was 100% a righty.
A couple drills later he bent down to pick up a water bottle and had to drop the stick from his left hand in order to do it.
He was definitely babying his right side.
“How goes it, girly?”
I jumped.
I was so focused on watching I didn’t notice Paige approach, which was stupid of me- I knew better than to be ignorant of my surroundings. On the other hand, it felt like the rink was healing me, allowing me to feel so comfortable that I wasn’t as worried anymore.
“Good morning,” I smiled. Friendship with Paige had always come so easily.
“Mind if I sip some morning coffee with you?” She smiled brightly and pushed her Beanie out of her eyes.
“I would love the company,” I scootched over so she could have some of my blanket.
“Wow, this feels like old times,” she laughed. “But now our guys are old geezers.”
I grimaced. Greyson wasn’t mine. Not by a long shot. I hadn’t been as lucky to have my first love work out.
She obviously didn’t realize her mistake, or didn’t think it was a mistake, and she kept talking.
“Hey, remember when the old rink manager Craig made ‘Wanted dead or alive’ signs of the boys?” She cackled. The memory made me chuckle as well. Their roughhousing and stealing of beers from Benny’s would get out of hand. I felt bad for Craig a lot of times growing up.
“Poor Craig,” I mused, smoothing out the blanket on my lap.
Paige shook her head in agreement.
“So, what number’s your little babe?” she asked.
