Max was beyond thrilled when he opened his Caps tickets on Christmas morning, along with his Winter Classic Nicklas Backstrom shirt, his Caps hockey socks for his own practices, his Caps pajama pants. He had a great Christmas and couldn't stop talking about how he was going to the game on Tuesday night.
In the wee hours of Sunday, Dec. 26, when everyone else was asleep at my parents' house in Delaware, where we'd gone Christmas Day, Russ and I both were awakened by the stomach bug. Russ had it worse than me, so we got up in the morning, my dad packed the car, and we hunched over the steering wheel and drove 2 hours back home so we could spend a miserable day lying around and sleeping while the boys tore the house apart with their new toys. I kept thinking "please don't let Max get this for the Caps game... please."
Monday was all-clear, Tuesday (gameday) rolled around and everyone was good and healthy. We had friends over for a playdate all afternoon - complete with pizza and Krispy Kremes*. When his friends left at 4:30pm, just an hour before the babysitter was to arrive, Max was psyched up about the game and talking about which shirt he was going to wear (Winter Classic).
I ran upstairs to shower and get dressed in my own Caps clothes, and when I came downstairs, I found Max sound asleep in the couch. Not a good sign. I woke him up and told him it was time to get dressed and he slowly dragged himself upstairs, only to lie back down in bed. He insisted that he wanted to go the game, felt fine, but was just tired. I tried to block out the nagging feeling that the bug had gotten him too, and I knew it was quite possible the pukes, or the runs, weren't far behind. We decided that instead of taking Metro, like we planned, we'd drive down in case he wanted to rest in the car. Then we left, with a warning to the babysitter that I wasn't sure how long we'd last.
As we drove down 270, I checked on him several times and he kept saying he was ok (not convincingly) and to keep going. As we got off on Cabin John Parkway and headed closer to the DC border, he said "Mom, I need you to turn around. My tummy hurts and I can't go." Not the words I wanted to hear at all. I like to believe I'd do anything for my kids and I am that perfect, nurturing mom when they are sick, but I REALLY wanted to go to that game, so I have to admit that I was more than bummed. But, because I knew that taking a miserable, sick kid to a Caps game wouldn't be any fun anyway, I turned around. Called the babysitter to tell her we were on our way, and we wove our way back up to 270. Just as we got on the highway, I asked Max how he was doing, and he didn't answer me. I could see that he was awake in his seat two rows back in the Suburban, and when I asked again, his answer was, and I quote, "(the-puke-sound-all-moms-know-and-hate--especially-when-it-comes-from-inside-the-car--three times-in-a-row)"... AGH.
I started freaking out, telling Max "we're almost home!", "it's OK!", all those things moms are supposed to say. I was now officially over the fact that we're going to miss the game and am totally consumed by the poor, puking kid in the car. And just then, when I'm at the lowest of lows, convinced we're having one of the worst.nights.ever, it was as if all the Who's down in Whoville started to sing even though the Grinch stole their presents, when Max, in his healthy voice says "Mom?? I feel fine now! I want to go to the game!"
For all the moms reading this - what would you do??? He wants to go to the game... YOU want to go to the game... the puke is out, but stinking up the car, but you know your kid and know that he actually really SOUNDS better. Luckily for me, my good friend, fellow Caps fan and mom of four, called me at that very moment and didn't act like I was completely nuts to actually think about taking him to the game (thank you, Heather). She even directed me to what she thought would be the best place for a quick clean-up, the Best Western in Rockville. Remember, we're almost home, it's 6:30pm (game is at 7pm) and we left the house at 5:40pm. We ran into the hotel bathroom, wiped off Max's pants, grabbed as many paper towels as possible, went back to the car and wiped up as much of the barf as we could (there was a LOT - *refer back to pizza and Krispy Kremes), called the sitter to tell her we're actually NOT coming home, put the windows down, and headed south on 270.
We turned on the radio and listened to pregame coverage, which turned into the start of the game as we got closer and closer to Verizon. I cringed as we went over every bump on Connecticut Ave waiting for the next round, called out about a thousand times "you ok, Max??" and was actually pretty sure that when he said "yes" in a very determined voice that he meant it. We found the closest garage to the arena, parked and made a mad dash up the ramp, into the arena, up four flights of steps, into our seats and the score was 0-0. With a HUGE sigh of relief we realized we didn't miss a thing, and, more importantly, that we made it... just in time, within about 2 minutes of us sitting down, the Caps scored. That was the first of three Caps goals that night. The Habs scored none. First shut out for the Caps since Nov. 26 (according to Max). It was a perfect game, and Max was one of the happiest fans there - jumping, cheering, shouting, and thrilled to be there to witness the Caps' last game of 2010. Happy even though I wouldn't let him eat or drink anything when we were there (those seats are pretty steep - no telling what damage some vomit could do).
The car still stinks no matter all of our attempts at spraying, wiping, cleaning, so it's being detailed next week. That's one lingering after-effect of our big night - we have only one picture, taken with my phone to prove that we were actually there. I even accidentally left the tickets in the pocket of my jeans and washed them, so that evidence is gone. But this is truly a night that will go down in history for me, for Max, as the night that we proved to ourselves how much we love a good Caps game... and how in that arena with all those superstar athletes, Max might have been the best sport of all.
