My girl

Several weeks ago my husband picked up a pair of student tickets to the Joffrey Ballet's opening night of Cinderella for me and our little ballerina. The excitement gradually built up. My daughter twirled around the house talking about going to the "feeder" to see Cinderella. My son oscillated between being happy for his little sister, and being slightly jealous. He would cover up his bad feelings by saying things like, "Well, I don't really like ballet. I just want to see it." I reassured him that he'd have an opportunity to go somewhere special with his mommy or daddy some other night. This pleased him.

As it turns out, it was probably a good thing he didn't come. I could just imagine the scene:

"Mommy, who's that?"

shhhh!

"Mommy, why are they doing that?"

Shhhh!

"Mommy, what's going to happen next?"

Shhhh!

In the meantime, my gorgeous girl would plie and pirouette about the house with her little sister trailing behind twirling around as only an awkward 18 month-old can do, softly landing on a nicely padded diaper.

For two weeks I warned her that she would have to, no questions asked, no delay tactics whatsoever, take a nap before we went to the ballet. She nodded her head sincerely and assured me she would.

The big day finally arrived. I picked up my angel from nursery school and we went on a reconnaissance mission to the train station to check out the parking situation there. We got home and my girl, without a word of protest went straight to her room and straight to bed.

More than the mapping our routes, more than finding the trains, more than picking out dresses, my daughter's willingness to go straight to bed gave me the sensation that this was going to be a night like no other. With this small but previously unheard of gesture, she showed me how enormous this event was in her world.

When she awoke, she dressed in her pale green "Cinderella" dress with petticoats and a shiny rhinestone trim at the waist. I wore my black ballet length taffeta skirt with petticoats and a green sweater. We both donned red coats with black trim. I know it was a bit over the top, but I couldn't help myself. I tried to convince myself it was for safety, in case (God forbid) we got separated. I Just thought it would be too delicious to match!

We drove to the train station and parked. I asked a CTA employee to guide us to the trains, I asked another to help us through the turnstiles, and yet another for help getting on the right train. My sweetheart sat perfectly still and took it all in. I was worried that she lacked confidence in my ability to get us to the right place. We counted the stations to our destination, and she smiled a big smudgy smile from the black licorice she ate on the way to the train.

We found our way to the theatre with the help of another CTA employee and an off-duty postman. We got our tickets from the Hillel program director and went in. The Auditorium Theatre (like School Academy?) is a beautiful, old theatre with gilded plaster work along the walls, opulent frescoes and murals, and dreamy lighting. My daughter's eyes were huge and she was unusually silent as she clutched my hand. She had never seen anything like this in her life. Later on she told me, "It was beeyootiful like a palace!". This was our special mother-daughter night out, so I treated my little girl and myself to a couple of "Shirley Temples" and a big box of Lemonheads. I should have known better.

"Blech!" said the girl who only drinks water. The usher informed me that there were no beverages allowed in the theatre. What was I to do with 9 dollars of syrupy sweet drinks and tart candies?

I slurped away at my two drinks as we headed up to the balcony. Little 3 to 5 year-old sprites and fairies in their "Sunday best" flitted and twirled about the lobby, and ushers greeted them all with sweet smiles and large pillows to sit on. A half-drunk "Shirley Temple" was abandoned in the lobby as we found our seats in the breathtaking theatre. My daughter was over the moon and the performance hadn't even begun.

The lights dimmed. My daughter whispered to me, "I think the curtain's going to go up soon!", and so it did.

Words cannot do the performance justice. It was beautiful, elegant, funny, and amazing. To my daughter it was pure magic. I spent as much time watching her expressions as I watched the dancers. My girl sat still and upright as she watched with complete amazement the ballerinas floating and flying below. Occasionally she'd reach over and give me a hug or a squeeze to express her appreciation or turn my head to face the stage. I have never felt so loved in my life, as I did this night when the world of beauty and grace was opened up for my daughter. She didn't come back down to Earth, until long after the train ride, the car ride home, and the long walk back to the apartment. Daddy was waiting to hear all about the evening, but all she could say was, "It was beeyootiful. Papa would love it."

All I could do was dry my eyes and squeeze her back. I am in such big trouble now.