Today I was able to watch my little girl’s eyes light up and hear her giggles collide with all the other young giggles in the theater as we watched her first and my first production of The Nutcracker. The sweetest thing is that I saw this for the first time with my little girl. I’ve always wanted to see it since I was a little girl and now I was able to share it with her.

I certainly wasn’t as wiggly as she was in the second act, but we both laughed as the Mouse King died in a comical way, and both were in awe of the ballerinas on their toes and the jesters’ acrobatics. The Russian dancers made her laugh as did the little mice whom she sat up straight in order to see.

I watched a little girl who wants to spin and dance on her toes yawn with the Sugar Plum Fairies’ as the music began to make her eyelids heavy. She would lay her head down on my lap for only seconds, then pop back up so she wouldn’t miss anything.

Looking over at her face that is becoming older each day, it is reflected in the lights of the stage and I see wonder in it; I see a little girl’s dream of leaping high on toe shoes. I see her take in the music and the beauty of the ballet.

And as we drove home later and she fell asleep, I couldn’t help but wonder if she dreamt. She might normally dream of galloping horses and open fields of green, but tonight, I wonder if she dreamt the same dream as Clara: of Snow Queens and Nutcracker Princes, of Spain and of Russia, of mice and fairies.