Hey there doods - I’m guest posting over at Classy Chaos, aka OHMommy’s blog. It’s all neat and clean over there, so I thought I’d add my mess to her perfection.

If you’re new here, WELCOME!
Read, peruse, and come back for more tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. It’s a little different over here from the perfection of Classy Chaos. There’s a stank around here that can’t be bleached out. And that’s how I roll.

Word.

And now, a word from a highly respected representative from Canadia, our 51st state: Ms. Huckdoll.

For those of you who don’t know me, I am Huckdoll. Born and raised in Vancouver, BC.

Canada.

Most of my young life was spent inside ice arenas watching my brother, cousins and friends play hockey. Saturday nights especially, were all about being in front of the television watching Hockey Night in Canada, whether I liked it or not.

My home team? The Vancouver Canucks.

I’ve been to many, many games - on occasion paying upwards of $300 a seat for playoff tickets.

What can I say? I love the smell of ice and more so, the energy of a few thousand people around me in one complex sharing my passion for one single thing - hockey.

When Baby Daddy and I found out we were pregnant, the first thing we purchased were Vancouver Canuck onesies. My daughters fell asleep many nights watching hockey games wearing these little things.

As they got older, they continued watching with us - on their own will. They’re almost three and not fully potty trained but they know almost every word to our national anthem. Some nights I’ll put them to bed and hear them softly singing it through the baby monitor.

They’re hockey girls, through and through. Why wouldn’t they be when they live in a country like Canada, in a city like Vancouver with so much love and passion for the game? Not to mention a dad who lives, breathes and plays the game.

This makes me smile and brings a tear to my eye, even. I LOVE Canada THAT much. I’m nothing short of proud to be one of these crazy Canucks in this video.

So, it didn’t really surprise me the other evening when my daughter asked me for a hockey beer cup.

What’s a hockey beer cup, you ask?

Well, I didn’t know either, so I asked her to show me. When finally made our way to the fridge, she pointed.

She wanted a beer.

My almost three year old wanted a hockey beer cup. To be brutally honest, I laughed my ass off. I’ve really never heard anything so cute in my entire life - that the twins associate beer with hockey. Talk about Daddy’s girls!

But, being the good mommy I am, I handed her a juice box instead and she cheers’d me with the unopened beer in my hand.

Only sixteen years to go, my hockey-loving baby girl.

Sixteen years till you realize that spending $24 for three beers at game is something only us crazy hockey fans do with a smile.

GO! Calgary Flames Canucks, GO!

And now for a little guest post from Bosssanders:

I’m not really sure how this whole guest blogging thing works. Do I introduce myself? Are you supposed to google my name and get all the dirt you can on me before I even start? Okay. I’ll wait right here while you do that. You good? Great.

Oh crap. See. I already screwed this up. Do I use real names or fake names? I am NOT calling you “Mama.” Nope *shake head*. I put my foot down.

MissSmartyPants (the author of this blog, who I’m not sure if I can use her name or not…you know, the lady who entrusted me to write a quality blog post? Sucka! Yeh, her…) had asked in a comment to one of my most recent blog posts about both geocaching and cycles. I’ll cover one of those lovely topics…with a story:

*Ahem. Clears throat*

Despite the numerous claims, I do not wish to inflict pain upon my in-laws. Mostly. (Just kidding if you find this, somehow.) Anyhow, last weekend we found an awesome geocache (stick with me, I’ll explain more later). And, me being the kind-hearted, sweet, loving, awesome (get the point yet?) wife of their son that I am, I decided to invite my parents-in-law. I told them about how awesome geocaching was - a sport where you combined hiking and “treasure-hunting” by using a GPS to locate waypoints with cool little treasures hidden. I told them how great this particular trail was - only a small hill that “didn’t make me breathe hard climbing” and no swarms of angry mosquitoes and mostly clear trails. They got excited and we made it a date (this past Wed).

Unfortunately, somewhere in the conversation there was a mix-up. A conversation gap. Hearing of voices. Bright lights. What THEY heard was: Super easy trail. On a road….a paved road. Little to no walking. At all.

And, then of course, when I told hubs to please relay to his parents that they would need: a walking stick, water, tennis shoes, bug spray, and items to trade in the geocache… he forgot.

I was a little confused when I offered to take our one year old daughter, L, and put her in the baby carrier and her Granny (his mom) told me that she wanted to carry her. I became a little more confused when she refused the perfectly good baby wrap/carrier/sling. I warned her, but nobody listens to me. And, so we began. Without an extra 20 lbs on my front, I could run up the steeper-than-I-remember hills. His mom? Not so much. I could hear her cursing my name and possibly even damning my existence 20 feet away. Father-in-law (FIL) was walking with a make-shift walking stick that bent with every step…and, with every step, it snapped off an inch or so. All of them (except for L and I) were smacking mosquitoes.

All things considered, I think it went fairly well. We hiked, found the nifty treasure, explored remains from an old hotel and old homes that were in the area. We walked over old balconies and over old foundations and where parts of bathhouses still lay. We imagined where bedrooms once were in homes, and found old ice-boxes (actually, we just saw one) and we even found a home where the fireplace and chimney was all that was left standing. On the way back, we watched the sunset over the lake. It was beautiful, it was serene…except for the heavy panting in the back and the sound of sister-in-law’s goofy boy friend sliding down the hill…on his back (in loose gravel).

Nobody died from that trip - yet (despite numerous threats). Although that is still to be determined, because last night, after we got back - hubs and I pulled a combined total of 25 ticks off of ourselves. Okay, okay. Actually he pulled them off of me as I whimpered and squealed like a baby. But, I swear if you ever try to bring it up again, I’ll deny it. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Shut up.

The moral of the story? There’s not one, really. Except, if you go geocaching, wear walking shoes, bugspray, and comfy clothes to walk in. You might even want to take some water to drink. And, if walking makes you feel like you’re about to die, this might not be for you. Just sayin’. Oh yeah…one more: If your daughter in law happens to be me…you should listen to her and take the damn baby carrier. You will not want to walk 2 miles with a 20 lb squirmy child, and nobody else will want to carry her the rest of the way, seeing as how you volunteered. That daughter-in-law of yours? She’s one smart cookie. Amen.

*Disclaimer: I’m a smart ass and anyone and everyone is subject to my smart-ass-ness. I love them (YOU) all the same. Really. I swear.*

Next week: MissSmartyPants will explain what a cycle is to you all. Be sure and ask her lots of personal/gross/icky questions about it.