The trip to Chicago was not a surprise as it would have been fun to do. Work obligations and a desire to make sure the trip jived with what he would want meant that the "surprise" wasn't such a single pinnacle of unexpected bliss.

Or at least that is what I thought when I spilled the beans a few months ago while planning the getaway (which he changed to fit his schedule.)

It was my first time at Wrigley. And it was my kids' first time, too. But he had been here before. Never mind... this was his first night game, his first with his kids, and his first in over a decade. It was still a time to celebrate.

I chuckled (and cringed) as he told me about the 'trough' in the men's bathroom (as opposed to traditional individual urinals.) Later, I had to laugh aloud as I realized that the "entrance" to the women's bathroom was several sections down from the "exit," which meant an interesting maze. Oh, and whoever had the stall before me must have smoked some weed.

The folks a row back from us were Giants fans. My kids and I smiled, and told them we were also from the San Francisco Bay area. My husband - in full Cubs regalia - told them he works in Sacramento, which is where they flew in from. We learned about their rather impressive journey across the country, and later my youngest son amazingly found an earring one of the ladies lost at the very end of the game.

But the biggest surprise of the evening was that as we walked slowly around the stadium - both to "take it all in" and to avoid the rather squished state of the train - a Cubs employee approached us: "Did you catch a ball tonight?" he asked my youngest. When he shook his head "no," the employee handed over a game ball.

OMG.

Yes, we got a game ball. Sure, I know many balls are played during the game, but just having one is a true treat.

It was this unexpected treasure that finally got my husband to tear up a little.