FairyTale?

Most of us are or have been in search of the fairytale.  We go through relationships, some good, some bad.  We grow from some, we shrink from others.  We learn what we want and what we don't.  Cinderella lived happily ever after, but where is the sequel?  What exactly does happily ever after look like?

To find a partner, not just someone tolerable, is true fortune.  The one that brings out the best in you and truly adores who you are and what is important to you.  The morning breath isn't so bad and the sex is amazing.  That person in the repeated dream - faceless at the time or maybe many different faces over time.  Dancing to the great Etta James, whisked off into that famous land of happily ever after.

Happily ever after has its flaws.  The highs are really high but the lows can be equally as low.  That person that adores you, when your legs aren't shaved and PMS is at its worst, obviously will have issues with your mannerisms and habits many times during happily ever after.  He doesn't attack who you are but frustration and disappointment are written all over his actions and tone.  Our Prince charming is in fact human.

After years of failed relationships - nursing a drunk or two, being disrespected, neglected, possibly even abused, finally you cross paths with the one that's been searching for you.  He's everything in that repeated dream plus more.  Hopes are high and confidence is higher.  The luckiest girl in the world and floating in bliss.  Real life has to begin at some point.  He'll come home from a bad at work, tired and cranky, and sex is the last thing on his mind.  Eventually you'll hear that your mom isn't the greatest mother-in-law ever.  Standing in the kitchen while you cook doesn't compare to flopping down on the sofa in front of a football game or The History Channel.  Your German Chocolate cake is almost as good as his mom's.  Hanging out with your girlfriends and their spouses isn't always the best weekend ever.  The Prada bag that is almost within reach makes zero sense to him - it’s unfathomable to him that that bag will never be at TJ Maxx.  All very normal, even predictable behaviors.  But you gasp...  Why would these normal, understandable, everyday cohabitation issues make us gasp?  Disney showed us what to search for but didn't show us what to do when we found it.  Possibly a sequel to Cinderella would've been greater than the first.

Certainly, I shouldn't feel unwanted because of a long, hard day at work.  It shouldn't bother me that his favorite cake, even made with his mom's recipe, isn't quite his mom's cake.  Socializing with the people I've socialized with for nearly half my life doesn't have to be great fun for him all the time.  

Here's the problem...  We hold on to what we think is the relationship, but it’s really the idea of the relationship.  Our dream is what could be.  What actually is isn't necessarily the dream, but we want it to be.  We don't want another failed relationship.  At one point or another, we question ourselves.  We grow accustomed to behaviors of the not so great relationships.  Then we're faced with the opposite, that faceless man in our dreams.  Reprogramming is definitely in order but it doesn't happen overnight.  Fear of another failure is still a small voice in our minds.  We ask ourselves, Is this just too good to be true?  Letting our guard down is more than half the battle.  Trying to climb into the dream and actually reside in it is difficult, great but difficult.  Every little, minuet, completely normal issue is questioned.  Was I just plain gullible?  I should've known the fairytale is just that - a fairytale - make believe.  When in fact, we've found it.  We can wear glass slippers every day, if we can just realize it and get over the baggage we've acquired over the years. 

It's pretty obvious my path crossed Prince Charming's.  The journey has been the greatest but yet most difficult (in a whole different realm of past difficulties).  I have to remind myself that it can happen (even for me), my second guessing and doubt could very easily sabotage a life-long quest, and just dwelling in it, taking in every moment, is bliss.  I have no reason to believe that he isn't all he appears to be.  Getting comfortable with the choice to give myself, to let my guard down, and also give him the princess that he strangely believes I am has been the greatest struggle in this truly great three and a half year relationship.  He is truly my best friend, my partner, my protector, and my amazing lover.  I honestly could not ask for more.  Maybe because I choose everyday to give my whole self and love completely and wholeheartedly that when my feelings get hurt its as equally as whole or intense.  Kind of a double edged sword.

The journey in the search of a dream - any sort of dream, molds us in ways, becomes a part of who we are.  The lessons from the journey should be just that - lessons - knowledge.  Knowledge to carry with us, not baggage to hinder us.  Keeping knowledge and baggage separate is key - I just didn't figure that out until recently.  Too bad we never got to see Cinderella live happily ever after. I'd like to believe that even though she was previously mistreated, she carried that as knowledge instead of baggage.  Although, it would've been nice to have that guide to build on since her journey kind of started this whole fairytale idea we've grown up with.

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BitterSweet

A young single mom for nearly five years, our bond is substantial.  Anticipation of this day grew yearly through middle school, monthly the first two years of high school, and daily the second two.  Graduation day - the bittersweet celebration and loads of supporting festivities, has passed.  Move out day looms over me, again bittersweet.

My first born son, an athlete and honor student, is growing up and moving on.  Pride and reverence overwhelm me.  This journey began with my own dedication, determination, and discipline, and somehow along the way they became his.  How fortunate I am to have passed the very root of my course on to him.  Every college application submitted was followed by an acceptance letter.  Of course the first choice came last, so pins and needles protruded from every chair we sat in for a little while.  He graduated with honors from a college preparatory school with a student body make up from 38 countries and 17 states.   

Move out day is rapidly approaching - 40 days or 960 hours or 57,600 minutes.  Thankfully the upcoming home away from home is only three hours away.  Only THREE hours or three WHOLE hours??  I teeter.  I don't know how I'll breathe when he doesn't walk through my door every day.  The "MOMMA" yell that echoed within the walls of our home for so many years, that was somewhat unnerving, is now the sweetest sound imaginable.  How can my time be up?  Walking down memory lane has occupied many sleepless nights recently.  I’m overwhelmed by conflicting emotions - regret yet pride, uncertainty yet direction, fear yet comfort.  I'm terrified but also excited.  Are the lessons and skills I've handed down adequate?  Have I properly prepared this gift God handed me to care for?  It’s time to hand him back over and I'm afraid I'm not ready.  Although typical concerns for safety and responsibility are present, it seems that my own sadness or illogical feeling of loss is central in my despair.  Deep down I believe he is ready.  I fear I am not.  I'm not even sure who I am without the active, hands on role of being his mother.  No more lacrosse games to travel to.  When he’s sick I won’t be there.  He’ll have to decide himself if the shirt looks ok with the pants he’s wearing.  I won’t be able to change his sheets or surprise him by cleaning his room.

He is grounded and he is well rounded.  He is compassionate and kind, respectful and respectable.  The decisions and paths he has chosen have proven his caliber thus far.  His eagerness and also his meager hesitation to try his wings prove an uncanny maturity.  He is aware and alert.  Time management and ambition are strengths possessed and utilized.  He is steadfast in his convictions and thorough in his considerations. 

My cup truly runneth over.  Thus far, the most difficult of all the hats I've worn being a mother is letting go.  It's rewarding and also discontenting.  I'm happy.  I'm sad.  I'm afraid.  I'm excited.