It’s been a few weeks since my daughters and I returned from Taylor Swift’s November 16 Eras Tour show in Toronto, an event that was near incomparable, at least in my recent, personal history, when it comes to pure, unadulterated fun. When it comes to - and I don’t think we consider this quality enough, honestly - sparkling. I spent the week following at least, and still, like right this minute, if I’m being real, wishing I could relive it (and that’s a rare happening when you’re a grownup).

As in I’d look at my pictures and think, not - “That was great but exhausting,” or - “I am so glad I made this happen for my children,” - but, instead, “Oh my god, I want to be back in that room.”

That room. That stadium full of all my new best friends, because who else would you scream-sing “DON’T YOU LET IT GO” at the top of your lungs with like that, light-up bracelets going white to lavender, all unencumbered, unabashed, crying even?

You might recall that I wrote about the Eras tour previously when I lamented being unable to secure tickets for Nora, who was (and is) a huge fan. What happened? Well, Taylor extended the tour - Nora was 14 when I wrote that first post! - Aidy became fervent fan, too, and I guess you could say that I lost my mind with the possibility. I thought about how I could at least explore the resale ticket market and give my daughters this incredible gift for their 10th and 16th birthdays this year – when would ever they be these ages again? when would they both love the same artist so very much? – and once that thought grabbed hold I couldn’t drop it. This is how parenting is sometimes. It is thinking about how to get one kid to taekwondo and another to swimming in the same evening; it is visiting the StubHub site for embarrassingly large swatches of time to monitor prices.

I’ll tell you the moment that I knew that purchase was worth it. I mean, beyond when I gave the tickets to the girls on Aidy’s 10th birthday late this summer, and they reacted exactly in keeping with who they are. Nora with her quiet disbelief then graceful exaltation, and Aidy screaming “is it real?!” then running from the room sobbing.

The next moment I realized it was worth it, one of many that day, was when (after an absolutely giddy road trip, including when Nora dropped the passports beneath the seats exactly at the moment we were approaching our turn at the Canada border patrol, and an overnight at the Red Roof Inn outside Buffalo NY, where we watched a Hallmark Christmas movie before falling asleep) we walked inside our Toronto hotel and “So High School” was playing loudly from lobby speakers, every single employee wearing Taylor Swift shirts, a bracelet-making table and decorated photo backdrop near the front door, and Swifies (sequins, high heels, hair bows) everywhere. That was when I thought: ok, then. And the calculations about, “should I have done this?” vanished because the answer was undoubtedly yes.

The thing about the Taylor Swift show, and I’ve heard others who’ve seen her say the same, is it wasn’t just the show. The show, I mean, of course. So much anticipation that I, who had been nothing more than a basic fan in the months leading up to my decision to buy tickets, was full-fledged by the time the clock on stage counted down and Taylor and her entourage emerged; as starstruck as they come in my Taylor Swift cardigan, so on-brand it even said “Taylor Swift” in the lower left corner. I didn’t know it when I ordered it but hey, if you’re going to do this thing, then do it, right?

So much anticipation that as Gracie Abrams, that night’s opener, appeared on stage, Aidy turned to me and told me that she was not ok. “I’m shaking all over,” she told me, crying (the second of three Swift-related crying spells). “We’ve been waiting for so long, for so many months, and Taylor is going to be there on that stage, I can’t do it.” Full scale panic! Fandom to the max! So totally Aidy! I held her hand and we breathed together while she calmed down, singing with Gracie (who she loves, as well) coming back to herself.

Once Taylor appeared, Aidy was all in, all alright, fist-to-her-heart in harmony with everyone, everywhere, who has ever idolized a singer with the earnestness of a 10-year-old girl. And Nora knew every single word to every single song. I knew she did, I suppose, but to see it like that. How does she do it? Her in-the-moment-ness still so poised? The stadium glittering, all of us gems. I got tired just once, during the slower cadence of the Folklore/Evermore set then roared back to life as the 1989 era hit, opening with my favorite song, “Style.”

But back to how it was more than the concert itself. Before we entered the stadium, a security officer (who could have been, but wasn’t in the slightest, overwhelmed and annoyed by the endless manic fans, none of us having the slightest clue how to get where we were going) helped us with directions to the proper gate, then pulled Aidy aside and pointed out some Ricola cough drops sales representatives (“take some of these to help your throat after you’ve been screaming all night!” they beckoned to us) and told her to “go see my friends over there, I think they’ve got one more friendship bracelet left, and it’s for you.” The streets were flooded with streamer-laden bicycle taxis, the bars all had her music pouring out the windows, everyone was on cue.

And before that, back in the hotel lobby, we took pictures with fellow concert goers on the stairs, they did the same for us, lots of “want to trade bracelets?!”, lots of “you look GREAT.” The positivity, so pervasive you couldn’t escape it, who would want to?? None of them freaking out in a bad way. Not one girl angry at her mother, or vice versa. Every misstep, forgotten item requiring an elevator ride back up to the room, dismissed with a laugh. How?

And before that, when our room wasn’t ready early as requested, no problem, but then also wasn’t ready at 4 when it was supposed to be, the front desk representatives so very apologetic, and the three of us fine, rolling with the very gentle punches. We’d get ready in the hotel bathroom, and as it turned out a group of four twenty-something-year-old women were doing the same. They’d come to the city on a whim, buying their resale tickets right there outside the toilet stalls, hours before showtime, the audacity! That self-assured certainty a bunch of girlfriends can summon so beautifully in those situations: that everything will work out.

Curlers and straighteners plugged into wall sockets, I joked that I hope we wouldn’t blow a fuse, leaving the hotel in darkness (but, actually). There was a lot of glitter and a lot of smiling excitement, some sweet offers to share products, and then we drew “13” on our hands because that, if you aren’t aware, is Taylor Swift’s favorite number. And that is what you do. “HAVE THE BEST NIGHT EVER!” we wished one another in farewell. It was sort of already the best night ever.

It’s not news to anyone here that as you get older you acquire more responsibility. Sometimes, if you let it, that responsibility can run amok, claiming too much, posing way too many questions, until you’re stuck, and it’s not even responsibility anymore, it’s something entirely different. Something that’s not philosophically admirable, even while it’s posing as such.

I can certainly get like that, all mired in the indecision. Taylor thought, she was the antidote. All outfit changes and knowing glances and bracelet trades in the line at the snack bar, at breakfast the next morning, at the rest stop on the way home, way outside Canada. In the aftermath, what I am telling you is that it is advisable, near mandatory, to - every once in a while, or what the hell? as often as possible! - have that kind of fun.

When we got home that Sunday, following a long but happy, punch-drunk and candy-fueled, eight-hour drive, I found Aidy in bed – where she’d retired immediately – quietly weeping (this was number three). I pulled the comforter down from her face. “It’s over,” she said. “We waited so long and it’s over.” Ah, the corollary to her pre-concert meltdown. And I said the only thing one can say in that situation, overly sentimental, but true, about how we’d always have the memories.

Plus, I told her, there’s so much fun out there to be had. I said that for her, who inherently knows it, despite the letdown. I said it for me, who’d been reminded. Who knew it now, too.

Here's one substantive note about the music, and forgive me, I’m no critic, and don’t want to be maligned by the more serious fans out there for my overly basic interpretation. But in my metamorphosis from “knowing some of her songs” to whatever I am now with my Taylor Swift-embroidered Taylor Swift cardigan, I am truly enamored of this singer’s ability to write and perform music that captures her superstardom, and the regularities of everybody’s lives, so that a mother and her two daughters, and an entire stadium of screaming fans, all think, “this song is about how I feel.”

A song I’d never paid much attention to is “You’re on Your Own, Kid,” which just so happened to be one of the “surprise” songs at our concert, and is also Nora’s favorite. Nora, who truly values the lyrical mastery. Who, when I told her I’d finally listened to the words of that one post-concert, and, “you know what! that’s a great song!” rolled her eyes at me and was like, “Yes. I know.”

I explained to her why, couldn’t help myself, I was a new woman, all hopped up on StubHub thrills and imagining when I’d wear my new flowy dress again. She goes through this whole thing about her career or whatever, I said, and it’s kind of tough. “You’re on your own kid.” Then at the end….she flips it around to something positive. Quoted it to my 16-year-old daughter like she wasn’t fully aware.

“Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned/ Everything you lose is a step you take/ So make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it/You’ve got no reason to be afraid.

You're on your own, kid
Yeah, you can face this
You're on your own, kid
You always have been.”

Take the moment and taste it, I said. That’s very good!

And Nora humored me, her suddenly star-eyed mom. I spared her further analysis because it would have gotten embarrassing to have me rambling on, but I think she got it just the same, the original fan in our family. Taylor ends it on a high note, about her, about us all. Take the moment! That’s what we did, and will do.