For some it's the college bowl games in January or the Superbowl in February. For others, it's March Madness. I look forward to late April, the end of hockey's regular season and the start of the Stanley Cup Playoffs.
Playoff hockey is intense. The play is so fast that I don't dare look away from the TV because I could miss a critical play. The split-second shifts in momentum leave my heart racing long after the last siren sounds. It's a rush.
This time of year my husband resigns himself to eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles for dinner. Our bathrooms may be dirtier than a truck stop's, but I do fold the laundry, and then only because I can do it in front of the TV. He learned the game to watch it with me otherwise he'd be a lonely man.
So, there we were last night, the entire family watching the Capitals play the NY Rangers. Bedtime had come and gone. The youngest child lie on the floor, fighting to stay awake. When the Caps won in regulation, everyone cheered, and I hatched a plan I called the Red Surprise.
The next morning I said, "Wear red today."
"Why?" they asked in unison.
"If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise."
Later that morning I collected the kids from school and we drove to Kettler Capitals Iceplex to watch the Washington Capitals practice skate.
There was a respectable fan turnout but the rink was not as crowded as I had feared. Having never purposely sought autographs, I spoke with several veteran "stalkers" who offered tips on where to approach players. We found our post and waited. Our patience was rewarded.
When the first player, Nick Backstrom, left the iceplex, the kids hung back. Feeling their eyes on me, I approached him and asked if he would sign their Capitals hats. He politely obliged. They watched a tired Michael Neuvirth and John Erskine sign and became excited. Then came Karl Alzner.
It's difficult to recognize players without their uniforms, even more so when they sport traditional playoff beards and don't look like official photos. After three trial runs the boys approached Karl on their own. When one of them asked if he was John Carlson, he laughed and said, "No, I'm not that Carl," and then graciously posed for a photo.
The boys talked about it all the way back to school, where they shared their spontaneous adventure and autographs with classmates. When we watch Game 3 tonight they'll look for their new heroes and cheer loudly. Skipping school for a few hours was worth the memories made.
Playoff hockey is intense. The play is so fast that I don't dare look away from the TV because I could miss a critical play. The split-second shifts in momentum leave my heart racing long after the last siren sounds. It's a rush.
This time of year my husband resigns himself to eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and ramen noodles for dinner. Our bathrooms may be dirtier than a truck stop's, but I do fold the laundry, and then only because I can do it in front of the TV. He learned the game to watch it with me otherwise he'd be a lonely man.
So, there we were last night, the entire family watching the Capitals play the NY Rangers. Bedtime had come and gone. The youngest child lie on the floor, fighting to stay awake. When the Caps won in regulation, everyone cheered, and I hatched a plan I called the Red Surprise.
The next morning I said, "Wear red today.""Why?" they asked in unison.
"If I told you it wouldn't be a surprise."
Later that morning I collected the kids from school and we drove to Kettler Capitals Iceplex to watch the Washington Capitals practice skate.
There was a respectable fan turnout but the rink was not as crowded as I had feared. Having never purposely sought autographs, I spoke with several veteran "stalkers" who offered tips on where to approach players. We found our post and waited. Our patience was rewarded.
When the first player, Nick Backstrom, left the iceplex, the kids hung back. Feeling their eyes on me, I approached him and asked if he would sign their Capitals hats. He politely obliged. They watched a tired Michael Neuvirth and John Erskine sign and became excited. Then came Karl Alzner.
It's difficult to recognize players without their uniforms, even more so when they sport traditional playoff beards and don't look like official photos. After three trial runs the boys approached Karl on their own. When one of them asked if he was John Carlson, he laughed and said, "No, I'm not that Carl," and then graciously posed for a photo.
The boys talked about it all the way back to school, where they shared their spontaneous adventure and autographs with classmates. When we watch Game 3 tonight they'll look for their new heroes and cheer loudly. Skipping school for a few hours was worth the memories made.
"You only live once, but if you do it right once is enough." Mae West. Cheers to adventures with moms!
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