Reminder

If space and time are infinite, why must everything I want to do happen simultaneously?

These days, I am a sucker for nostalgia, so considering that he played in the dearly departed St. Louis Arena, that Scott and I went to those games while we were dating, and that he represents a time when the Blues were actually good, the ceremony for retiring Brett Hull's number is a natural trifecta. I've been looking forward to it since April, when we watched them retire Al McInnis's number amid talk that the Golden Brett should have been first. I got extra tickets to make sure my good friend could go, too, and that game (and Spamalot) were to be my social highlights for the month.

But I'm not going, and I'm almost totally okay with that.

Last night my daughter brought home a script. She's in a little informal acting class at the Y, and it turns out the last class is a performance. A performance to be held, of course, at exactly the same time the Blues alumni will gather on the ice to honor number 16.

Figuring that out was a disappointing conclusion to an already crappy day, and I admit that my first reaction was to scan through all the possibilities in search of one that would allow me to go to the game. Well, we all know that's not happening; it's not even worth mentioning. What is worth mentioning, however, is the leap one's heart makes while watching a 9 year old's shoulders slump in the defintion of crestfallen but then instantly rebound as she realizes that though there is a game that night, her mother isn't going. She might not always remember that I had that effect on her, but I won't forget.

St. Louis Blues Brett Hull nostalgia motherhood