Beauty and the Beast, and Beauty and the Beast

Life with Cora is no easy stroll down a summer lane, either. She's mercurial, and fierce, yet ineffably sweet and deeply sensitive. She's a hoarder, but when she's really sorry about something, she tells you by putting some of her money under your pillow. She's a whiner, but the most loving sister imaginable, always tuned in to her brother's and sister's moods and needs, and willing to take care of them. Sure, sometimes that means wailing on them. But she's always really, really sorry about it. She's complicated. As evidenced by her explanation of why she wanted to be Queen Elsa, instead of the feisty, lovable, red-headed Princess Anna for Halloween: "I want to be Elsa, because her dress is so beautiful, and because she has magic powers that can hurt people … [long pause] … by accident."

Her big Christmas present was a pair of tickets to her first-ever show, Beauty and the Beast at the Warner Theater in D.C. We went last weekend, and made a day of it. Possibly my favorite day ever. I don't get a lot of one-on-one time with any of them—and I believe I'd be a much better mom if I could raise them one at a time—so it was especially precious to me, on the heels of the Epic Harry Potter Screening and Sleepover.

We dressed up, drove in, and parked at my office, then walked to Le Pain Quotidian for a little snack. I ordered coffee and a croissant. She asked for a bite, then slid my plate over and finished the whole thing. So I just ordered another. The same thing happened. Then she got a "mini brownie" and hot chocolate, which she promptly spilled, so they just gave her another one. (This will, of course, be the story of her life, given her exquisite face.)

 Then we walked, in the frigid air, to St. Patrick's to see their huge creche, which she loved. Then on to Barnes & Noble, to buy the second in the Ivy & Bean series, which she loves. Then to Starbucks, to get cake pops: "just in case, Mom." As far as I'm concerned there's always a case for cake pops.

Then we went to the theater, where she was able to get … popcorn. I had a coffee. With Baileys. Because I could.

She didn't know quite what to expect.

The second the lights went down, she crawled out of her $85 seat and onto my lap, where she stayed the rest of the afternoon. And I didn't mind one bit. She laughed, she trembled, she actually cheered and called out encouragement to the actors. At the end, during the curtain call, everyone stood for Belle. I held her as high as I could and she turned, eyes shining, and shouted, "MOM! Belle waved AT ME! She looked RIGHT AT ME and WAVED JUST TO ME!" It was magic.

Afterward, we walked around the theater and she was fascinated by the orchestra pit, which was below stage. She called out in alarm, "How do they get OUT!?" and then, "You guys were amazing!" 

They were all charmed. Of course. 

I can't say I blame them.

Then we went back home, and she was so overwhelmed by the whole day that after about 10 minutes, I heard the unique sound of Cordelia snores coming from the backseat. Just a little catnap.

I spent the rest of the drive in total gratitude (all too rare), and wondered what she would remember most — when she called the day back from her memory, what would be the most special detail? 

I didn't have to wait long to find out. When she got home, she jumped into JVL's arms and shrieked, "Daddy! Today was so amazing! I had three desserts! THREE!!!"