Fairytale

And of course, at the end of it all is actually where it all began. A few Cinderella stories ago I posted my first diary entry in the infinity pool of social media under a nom de plume like the ever-popular gossip girl and lady whistledown. I craved equal parts anonymity and notoriety.

I spent most of this year with my words lost in the hustle and bustle of life and reminding myself that if I don’t write it down I won’t have the memories. The rest of me said fuck writing it down just live it. But it’s hard to do when I have so much to say and not sure who’s listening or listening anymore…

But as they cut the final strings off the coveted net in the final match of the heart of the youth athletics the words flowed like the tears of the champions…

“Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale… “

—Hans Christian Andersen

After a memorable summer — September felt like forever. In more ways than one. As we edged closer to October, I began to see that the days felt longer from sun rise to sun set, and I still never had enough time.

Every Saturday of every fall weekend with the tremendous amount of rain made my weekly blow outs and dodging the droplets became a not so popular blame it on my roots game.  And we had a little too much time, idle time on our hands, I began to get lost in my head again. I watched my reflection in puddles towards the chill of the new season and realized autumn was upon us. I even found a rainbow leaf in late august. A real showboating kind of array of hues.  This leaf was almost transported from the future as a foreshadow of what to come or what becomes…

Then there was that familiar sound— “mommy? Mom?” times a million.

I thought about legally changing my name a few weeks ago— not like the artist formerly known as prince but to— dad— or daddy if I wanted a nickname.

Being called mommy is unbelievable.

It’s indescribable.

It’s magical and the euphoria you feel the first time you hear it from the tiny voice from the tiny human you created or two if that’s the case— is legendary. Even more so than when your OG used call you his girlfriend or fiancé or wife. You felt this heartbeat from the inside out and now it has a name, and it has given you a name and that name is said by them— an infinite number of times. Being a mommy never gets old no matter how old you are, or they are…

I rarely tired from my name being called. It’s better than anything else until it’s when I’m in the bathroom trying to sneak in a quick pee solo, worse a tampon change, naked in the shower or in the middle of the night when I have used up all your sweet dreams spray and I added too much water to the already homemade batch. Sometimes I wonder why don’t they call for dad or daddy? How much he gets to sleep or miss out on the hard parts? He’s here. He’s home. He capable. Yet they call for me.

Then I think about the safest place we have are the ones we know by heart. While the rest of the world feels so black and white some days I scream in the color of the broken crayons. They work just as well.

I have been thinking more and more about time. The way it moves and how it’s spent. How the passage of time affects almost everything. I know the days can be long, but the years are short. The seasons change and I’m reaching for my leather jacket again and buying Halloween candy and over analyzing fall leaves…

And now with a blink of an eye it’s a new year but some of the old shit is still seeping through.

This past year and now this one seem like I can’t fully remember other things. Like life before mommyhood was a lifetime ago. I thought being a mommy meant you were part of an exclusive club where once you learned how to do it you never forgot — synonymous with riding a bike. Swaddling a baby, making a bottle, changing a diaper. But once you are past a phase or achieve the next level in mommyhood your memory capacity becomes different. Those things give way to a new dimension. 4-hour feedings give way to pantry raids of snacks. It’s always snack time. And video games and sports and homework. Making dinners and open-ended questions of why or how come? at bedtime both yours and theirs.

I remember the first time I bought my son underwear he felt so grown up. Now he has his own phone. Next year is middle school. He’s on the cusp of becoming his next phase and yet I can still steal a late-night kiss and heart to heart before we both yawn from our days. My little one isn’t so little anymore either. He reads to me and gives me good advice when I can’t find my own. An old soul with gentle little hands and a huge heart.

Funny thing is once you get into school age you never get out because is like a mother. It’s always there… and math homework— it’s always there… always. Maybe that’s why you have to learn it on your own first because you will be doing it for the rest of your life…

I think most of my life I had to learn hard things alone before realizing the hard parts never go away, sometimes they are harder the second time around because we now have to explain them to some one else.

As they age so do I. Sometimes it’s like a game in aging in reverse. They get older but I have to keep younger to stay in shape mentally and physically. I have to keep up with pop culture and still be a parent. Be their best friend when their actual one fucked up and yet not give away the hard parts because our hard parts might be different and deliver consequences when they cross the line. The chapters they left out of the Torah for mommies.

Phases of life and people seem so long ago and not on my radar... Like I forgot about them even though they are still present. Is that the same reason my kids call for me… 

Sometimes in the middle of all the chaos and confusion we have to remember this old proverb “ if you feel like you’re losing everything— remember, trees lose their leaves every year, yet they still stand tall and wait for better days to return”.

Nothing is lost but misplaced.

Sometimes I sparkle in the sunlight and glow in the dark.

Some days I fade into the background as if I am utterly invisible. I don’t know if I’ll ever be someone’s first call or last one either. I have learned to be ok not being ok. It’s better to be alone than lonely surrounded in a crowd. My circle should not feel like a cage.

As it approached February just in time for Ground Hog’s Day — I had a good laugh it is funny because that’s what January felt like to me. After 49 days because I got the extended warranty of this new subscription, I am still not sure if I want to opt out of the trial offer, I am reminded that I gotta hang on and hang tough. The things I struggle with in silence might be the same thing someone else shares out loud.

But now it’s my favorite time of year, the electricity in the air— it was March and all it’s madness. The only science I will always love — bracketology. Even Albert Einstein can’t solve equation of how the true Cinderella story is what fairy tales should be made of.

I had a dream last night. It was of a little girl — maybe preteen. I don’t have a daughter, so I don’t know if the girl was me — decades ago—but I felt connected to her. She was just a shadowy figure in my mind this morning but nevertheless she was a version of someone deeper. She asked me in my dream if it was going to all work out. If I was going to be ok. Her life a fairy tale still had elements of villains, tragedy and saddneas. It wasn’t charmed but the imperfections were going to be the happily ever after I assume. She was going to save herself while gallantly saving everyone else, too. Somewhere through this forest was the only person who could save the day. Her shadow behind her and her reflection in front of her. She was somewhere in between. She’s always somewhere in between it all.

I woke up from my dream and realized that I didn’t have enough time to finish this subconscious thoughts. Because someone has to make the lunches, pack the backpacks and get us all ready for the day.

Then I remembered dreams are not only meant for sleeping. Sometimes you have to dream wide awake. Write your memories into your mindset.

As I put on my paper sunglasses to protect my eyes from the solar eclipse this April  I was struck with the irony of their purpose. Everything is blacked out so you can focus on the only thing that matters— the phases of sunlight and darkness. You can only see the sun and the purest intentions remain in that moment— the rest of it becomes obsolete.

It’s beautiful to have that option. Focus on just one thing for a few brief moments of time. Let the rest fade away without distraction.

It was the happily ever after moment that makes the story all make sense— even when it doesn’t sometimes.

What a “rose colored glasses” thought.

There’s no easy way to tie up my first writings down since last summer because my time is up. I’m actually writing on borrowed time. So I will have to hit pause and return when I can — but as we all know the happily ever after comes at the end and I’m somewhere in the middle of it all…