Girls dressed in pink tulle, tutus and sparkly ballet shoes flit and twirl across their pretend stage.  Spritely young jousters parry and thrust invisible swords to ward off imagined foes. The lobby of the Seattle Opera house is abuzz with Lilliputian ballerina wanna-be’s. Big Papa and I wait until it’s time to head to our seats to watch a performance of the Pacific Northwest Ballet’s ‘Nutcracker.’

PNB’s version of the Nutcracker with sets by Maurice Sendak is truly a sight to behold. For me, attending is an enormously rare treat. Big Papa got us tickets so we could enjoy a date night together and have a few dust-free hours away from the chaos that is currently the Urban Cabin, our home.

The ballet begins and I hold Big Papa’s hand and snuggle my arm next to his. All around me I can hear the whispers of little voices. Tiny heads bob this way and that, necks careen for a better view and bodies squirm in booster seats. Kids are everywhere, in the audience and on the stage.

As the story unfolds, it occurs to me that this is may be the last time I attend this kid-friendly event without a kid. Part of me feels a bit sad. Date nights such as this are dreamy. There’s no finer way to spend an evening, than an intimate pas de deux with Big Papa by my side.

Having a kid will change everything. On the one hand, I will sorely miss my time with Big Papa and Big Papa only. On the other hand, sharing the holidays with a kid could be a lot of fun in a different kind of way.

Each year we’ve been together, we truck off into the Cascade foothills to cut down our Christmas tree. We string up the lights and place ornaments on the tree. One year Big Papa got us the coolest train set which chugged its way round and round the presents piled below the base of our tree. Sometimes though, it feels like something is missing. That something would be a kiddo.

I know that Christmas with kids isn’t all mouse kings and wide-eyed awe. Many times it’s melt downs and tirades. Still, there’s magic to behold when you see a kid’s eyes light up as they experience the wonder of the season. Fantasy catches fire as young imaginations spark with hope. Just like the Christmas Eve for Clara in the Nutcracker, the biggest gift is the gift of a dream.