Even the boy admits to being tired - it's a sign

Stuart started to play hockey this fall.

It's something I have written a million posts about in my head : the first practice where he couldn't even stand on his skates but wouldn't give up (the day that it felt like someone was cutting my heart out of my chest), the day he got sent back down to initiation to learn how to skate (phew, the relief) the day he got called back up to Novice (hurray!), the day he got his first two shots on net in a tournament (yippee! I don't know what we're going to do when he actually scores, I'd better start stuffing my pockets with tissue).

It's been a long process, this October to January blossoming of  my son the hockey player. Emotional for his mama, who can't skate herself and found herself unable to help much beyond words of encouragement.

The Stu has tried lots of things in the past. LOTS of things. And he always loses interest - usually quickly (as in, the moment I paid for something that he swore he would love). I didn't really give this hockey thing this long, especially since he had so much to learn.

The boy has proven me wrong. He is so dedicated. He won't give up. He keeps getting up and dusting himself off. Getting back out there, even when he was slower than 3/4 (9/10ths?) of his team. His belief in himself has never flagged.

A couple of weeks ago he started skating lessons on Saturday mornings that coach had recommended he take.  The same day he started floor hockey at the community centre, something he had done one session last year and loved. I'd registered him for the floor hockey back in November (back when he was still skating with the younger kids in initiation) in an attempt to keep him motivated. 

Well intentioned, but for the last 3 weeks our Saturdays have looked something like this:

9:45 am - skating lessons, 1 hour

somewhere between 11 am and 1:30 pm - hockey pratice, 1 hour

3:00 pm - floor hockey, 1 hour

Add to that a Sunday morning game (and a tournament 2 weekends ago, so 2 games on Sunday) and my boy, my boy who has denied being tired every single day of his 7 year-old life has given in and admitted that he is tired.

"Mama, I'm tiiiiirrrrrreeeeddddddddddddd" he said (whined) after he had spent an hour looking at the same math problem (that he had to bring home as extra work because he didn't finish it in class).

Words I thought I wouldn't hear from him before adolescence. (I have to admit I felt a small thrill of victory, the kid has nearly put me 6 feet under on more than one occasion with his refusal to sleep). (In sharp contrast there are some days Julia says it all day - when you ask her to do hideous things like hang up her snow pants or pick up the toys in her room).

We talked to him and told him the floor hockey has to go for now. School is his priority and hockey is important, but that the floor hockey has to go.

I expected tears. Whining. Pouting, recriminations, you know, the whole production.

We got :

"Okay Mama."

Wow.