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Lately, my sense of humor seems to have been replaced by something else— sentiment. It’s not a fate I ever imagined for myself. In my younger days, I threw things in the trash with a brutality that said I cared more about a clean apartment than memories. But here I am holding onto scraps of paper with stick figures on them just because the word “Mom” is scrawled at the top. Like one day they will be worth something.

There’s one drawing of Mazzy and I holding hands. I have rainbow hair and Mazzy has a dinosaur on her head. Surely, that one will be worth a million bucks! I hid it in my underwear drawer next to my engagement ring just in case.

Ten years ago, if you had told me motherhood would make me burst into tears of joy at the smallest of things, I would have thought you had lost your mind. I was too busy making fun of my friends with kids who were broadcasting all sorts of unnecessary information on facebook.

Does a baby holding a spoon in his hand really deserve an exclamation point?? I don’t think so, random facebook friend I haven’t had anything in common with since high school.

So, imagine my surprise when I took my girls to see Frozen on Ice and I had a FULL-ON UGLY CRY before we even found our seats.

What is wrong with me???

It wasn’t like the emotion built up during the show and then I finally gave in to it.

No. I started crying the second we walked into the arena— like the magnitude of the moment was too much for my child bearing hips to handle.

We got there a little late and walked up the stairs to find our seats just as the show was starting. When you enter a coliseum or a stadium, you know how you come up from underground and then the stage is revealed in all its glory? Like the first time you see a baseball field? I saw Mazzy and Harlow have that moment. Their little heads poking over the railing on the landing between sections, their mouths going completely slack-jawed as they took it all in.

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We were pretty high up but somehow that made Elsa and Anna look even more real. Tiny and exquisite in the dresses both my daughters have memorized down to the last detail. They flitted across the ice as it occurred to me that Frozen was MEANT for ice skating. As if every Disney on Ice performance over the last twenty years was just practice for this one.

In that same moment, “Do You Want to Build a Snowman” started. Hearing the song we know so well (we’ve heard it a billion times, after all) playing in a huge arena and watching my girls faces as they realized what they were in for — it was just too much.

I burst into tears.

We were still standing and the usher was trying to direct us to our seats with a flashlight. And there I was swallowing tears and trying to compose myself enough to squeeze past other families in our row.

I swear, I am not a crier and I cried three more times throughout the show.

Once when Harlow lost her mind laughing and pointing when Olaf showed up.

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Once when Elsa sang “Let It Go”. A hush came over the crowd when everyone knew it was about to start and then all the little voices around me (including Mazzy and Harlow) belted it out together. It was beautiful.

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And embarrassing. We are not talking about wiping away a little water overflow. We are talking about a Claire Danes face crumple. I had to cover my face for fear I would scare my children.

My final cry came at the end when all the Disney characters joined the Frozen characters on the ice. Mazzy started waving like all her friends had surprised her at her own party.

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“Minnie Mouse!!!!!! Goofy!!!!!!! Simba!!!!!! Woody!!!!!! Snow White!!!!!” I half expected her to scream, “How do you all know each other???”

Oh my heart. Fuller than I ever imagined.

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Disney, you got me.

Guess I’ll put those ticket stubs in my underwear drawer for safe keeping. That’s a million bucks, easy.

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