You'll shoot your eye out, kid

I'm up at 3:30 Christmas morning, stuffing stockings and enjoying a few moments of quiet here in my parents' house before the hustle and bustle starts. I went to bed feeling grateful to be here with my family, mom and dad pampering me and Mr.C and the dog, and regaling my aunt and uncle with my shenanigans from the previous year.

I realize most of my hockey darlings don't get this luxury due to compressed schedules and the season's relentless grind, but I hope they're having a good holiday. Though I'd guess since they're playing tomorrow, there's a bit of work to do today. The show must go on.

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We used to be one of those families with obscene piles of gifts and wrapping paper strewn everywhere, but we cut back last year and decided to just do stocking stuffer-type things for each other. I adhered to the rule this year, but as I look around me, there are wrapped gifts under the tree and the stockings are overflowing to the point where they can't even hang on the mantle.

So I'm afraid I've failed at gifting, relatively speaking, again. I'll have to console myself in the knowledge that I followed the rules. We did, however, get potato guns for all the guys, so that should be pretty entertaining if they work. I'm not talking shooting whole potatoes. Just potato pellets. We'll see how that goes.

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I have to tell you about this dream I had that woke me up and kept me up. I may daydream about my hockey boys a lot but when it comes to real dreaming, on the rare occasion they show up in one, it's always very pedestrian or just plain weird.

It's a little disappointing that my subconscious is determined to be so bland, but what can you do?

Anyway, I had this dream that I was in school and, apparently, a meth head. But I was still a goalie and there was a hockey game I was going to play in to win some meth. I was nervous about it, though, because if the cops found out what we were playing for, obviously we'd get in big trouble.

So, for some reason, I couldn't play the second period, and one of my goalies was kind enough to fill in for me because he's a swell guy like that. But of course that makes me REALLY nervous because if the cops find out about the meth thing, especially WHILE he's in net, he'll be the one to get in trouble instead of me. And he doesn't even KNOW about the meth thing. It's a bad, bad feeling to think I'm doing him wrong. (Well, not DOING him wrong, but... anyway...)

And yet, it's for meth, which is apparently addictive enough, even in the dreams of someone who's never been addicted to anything but hockey and Dr. Pepper, to sell out my favorite goalie. Say no to drugs, kids!

Fortunately, his period ends and I go back in and my team loses. I end up being relieved about the loss because now I don't have to worry about getting caught with the meth and my goalie won't get in trouble for being associated with the game.

Not sure what my subconscious is trying to tell me with that one and I don't think I want to know. Probably something about not going to bed on such a full stomach and a bunch of wine. Urgh.

Anyway, there's your bizarre Christmas story for the day. Except it's not a Christmas story. Meh.

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I'll wax poetic more around New Years, but I just want to say thank you guys for reading. I'm so grateful for the amazing, funny, generous, kind people I've met through hockey and this blog. I hope your holidays -- and all days -- are full of blessings and good fortune and sickkkkkkkk saves.