Archive - Mommy Princess

Mommy Princess

I relish a weekend morning when there is no need to rush out of bed at an early hour to be someplace on time. It's
these mornings when we, as a family, can take our time waking up and spend some time just being. On these
mornings when the kids awake, we invite them into our bed to cuddle and watch a bit of weekend morning cartoons
before starting the routine of the day. Our oldest son has already outgrown interest in this "cuddle time" with us. But
our youngest son still jumps at our invitation.

On this particular weekend morning, as our 2-year old sat cuddling in our bed, looking around our room, he snuggled
close and pronounced, "Mommy you're a princess!" This heart-warming comment was apparently a response to the
image he saw in the wedding photo hanging on our bedroom wall. But as he hugged me and smiled, it was also a
humble reminder that in my son's naive eyes, I am sometimes viewed as someone with a bit of magical powers,
perhaps even worthy of a princess title.

When kids are young, Mommy possess limitless knowledge and answers to the universe, Mommy can comfort and fix all
boo boos, Mommy creates much fun. And when kids respond to these magical powers with a face that lights up upon
your presence, exclaiming your name and embracing you in a tight hug, you do feel like a princess.

Right now I suppose I have the upper hand in the "magic" department, merely because I'm the one around more often,
and at their age, consistency breeds fondness. It's not that Daddy is any less enchanting. In fact, when prince
charming returns from work, his fun-loving energy quickly transforms the house into a magic kingdom of roughhousing
play. But he's the one with the daunting duty to leave the house each day for long hours in order to pay the bills.

And while some days I'm looked upon as a princess, I'm certain other days I'm viewed as quite the wicked witch -
hollering orders, enforcing rules, unjustly oppressing fun.

I am well aware that my princess fairy-tale is time limited. One day, as my children approach adolescence, the clock
will strike midnight, and my Cinderella status will "pumpkinize." My princess façade will disappear and I will quickly
morph back to the homely old Mom who isn't much of anything special. Once my kids hit that certain age, my
knowledge will have no credit, and my healing powers will diminish, and my presence will embarrass them socially.

But until this spell is broken and I return to the mere slave of housework, I will be thankful for the occasional,
unexpected crown bestowed upon my head, when my kids see me as something slightly more special than I really am.