It was a surprise.

Peggy Jane the Mom was completely, thoroughly, wonderfully surprised last Saturday night at her surprise 75th birthday party at Lambeau Field.

For the three days I was not at work that week, she badgered my co-workers to the point of near tears. Saying "she's out," and not offering any additional information, even though that's exactly what I instructed folks to do, just doesn't cut it with her.

It occurred to me as we were nearly to the Green Bay city limits that I had never driven directly to my sister's house, although I knew the "general" area.

As Skinny Son was maneuvering around the "round-abouts" and county roads labeled only with letters of the alphabet, the phone rang and my assistant in the newsroom was leaving me a pleading voice mail: "I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but I really wish you'd call your Mom. All I can say is I'm glad the party's tomorrow night."

After arriving at my sister's, she insisted that I not call Mom, so I didn't.

On Saturday, turning east onto Lombardi Avenue, following my sister's van as her husband drove and she balanced seven ginormous (gigantic plus enormous) bouquets of fresh flowers she artfully arranged, I gasped aloud as Lambeau Field came into view for the first time.

Then we were whisked inside, found a catering cart for the flowers and headed up to the fourth level, where the party was to be held.

One entire wall of the suite was glass and looked out over the field. Looking down there, it was easy to envision the four seasons Fritz the Dad prowled the sidelines, encouraging, clapping and only occasionally screaming loud enough for that vein to stick out on the side of his neck.

Everyone arrived at the appointed hour - the two couples who have been their best friends since college; women friends from her book club and Republican activities in Green Bay; the guy who built their beautiful home and his wife; and an entire table of Scott the Brother's friends from high school, their parents, wives and children.

Unwrapped on the table was the leather-bound book my sister crafted containing nearly 100 messages of warm wishes and memories of Peggy Jane the Mom, many from Wyoming.

Brother-in-law had the task of picking her up and bringing her to what she thought was his birthday dinner.

When the glass door opened and we all yelled "surprise," it was worth every bit of keeping a secret from the world's most involved mother for more than a year.

After the party, we loaded everything up; took our luggage from the sister's to Peggy Jane the Mom's, and enjoyed just more than 24 hours at her lakeside home.

After a day of church and breakfast and boat rides and watching the niece and nephews swim and fish, Scott the Brother, Skinny Son and I hopped in the car and went to training camp in an unfamiliar role as three of the thousands of regular folks in attendance.

As we walked through the roadway filled with Packers riding little kids' bikes, the bike owners walking alongside holding the players' helmets, I said to my brother, "I just want to see Brett."

Knowing that I can hardly see the end of my arm, we were there about 10 seconds when Scott the Brother poked me on the shoulder and said, "to your left, 30 yards ahead," and there he was, No. 4 in a red (don't hit me) jersey, limping from a tweaked ankle.

It was great to be there. But the next time someone suggests surprising Peggy Jane the Mom …

Community News editor Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at (307) 266-0520 or sallyann.shurmur@casperstartribune.net.