Tuesday, December 16, 2014

What Dreams Are Made Of

She sat, mesmerized, her delicate hands clasped gently as she stared, unblinking, at the scene before her.

The vibrant colors, the jubilant music, the effortless movement. She took it all in. 

And I took her in, memorizing the moments as they passed: the way she looked with her golden curls pinned back, wearing a fancy navy blue dress and velvet bowed shoes; the way her slender legs barely reached the end of her chair, a chair that was too heavy to be held down by the weight of her strong yet slender body; the way her eyes sparkled when presented with a special souvenir to commemorate the occasion; the way she twirled and danced and curtsied in the lobby once the final curtain fell. 

This was the day. The day I had been waiting for ever since I heard the words "It's a girl!" years ago. The day I took her to see the same show, at the same theater, I had seen as a little girl. The day she sat by not only me, but also in the laps of her Bammy and Nana, so that she and I could share these beautiful moments with the most important women in her life...and mine. 

The day I took my daughter to see "The Nutcracker."

A day I'll never forget. 

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