Sister Rachel hit her first hockey game yesterday.  I think she was excited.  It was Mac's first regular-season outing as goalie - Ice Sharks versus Polar Bears.

"This is my first hockey game ever," she told Shef and me on the way over.

"You're in for a treat," I said.

"I feel like a real Minnesotan," she smiled.

In the end, I'm not sure hockey is exactly the right sport for Rachel.  I jumped the first time she screamed.  "They're falling!" she explained, as I grabbed her forearm, the seven and eight year-olds sprawled on the ice.

"They do that," I said.  "See all the pads?"  I patted her reassuringly. "They're okay."

But the up-and-down drama of the kids trying to skate continued to provoke audible gasps and shouts and screams.  I was basically laughing my head off at her and holding her hand for support.  "Wait until you see Shef play," I said. The contact and the penalties and the slamming into the boards will surely test her emotional fortitude.

"Oh dear," she said.

But I think she's coming back.  I think she wasn't too, too traumatized.  Still, I don't think I can take her to lacrosse.