The clock was about to strike midnight. She looked down past her flowing, glittery gown to the dainty glass slippers that adorned her perfectly arched feet. Fireworks began to burst into dazzling displays of light and color in the darkened sky. As she turned her delicate neck to catch a glimpse of the clock; she felt her luscious locks brush against the diamond encrusted necklace resting on her décolletage. And as her lean fingers clothed in pearly white gloves reached into the air as if to stop the clock from chiming midnight… I realized: my JLo sweatpants had a dang hole in them again and my feet were freezing from the lack of warmth provided by my house shoes. I did not have to look at a clock to know it was midnight and the start of a new year; my boys began banging pots with soup ladles and spatulas and the neighbors black cat firecrackers sent my head into a tailspin. Wake-up Cinderella, this ain’t no fairy tale!
While I despise the use of double negatives, “this ain’t no fairy tale” seemed fitting in my backyard in Texas. A family tradition of ringing in the New Year consists of banging on pots and pans making as much racket as one possibly can. As if I hadn’t had enough commotion with the boys being out of school for the past two weeks and an on again- off again cold that would not quit; the abundant amount of noise was more akin to deaf violinist who insisted on screeching through a Beethoven symphony.
Being a dreamer just stinks. You would think that by now I would not expect confetti and balloons to fall out of the sky on my birthday; extravagant Christmas parties with ball gowns and chocolate covered strawberries with champagne; and certainly not an elegant night in a ritzy club full of glamour and glitz as my husband and I sip out of crystal flutes counting down the New Year. No, I am a dreamer; not a logical thought ever crosses my brain. I dream of Disney moments and not the scenes where Cinderella is cleaning as she is signing to mice, but the big Disney moments! Moments when my fairy god mother appears and turns my yoga pants and mom bun into a Disney-style goddess version of myself; or moments where my husband and I are dancing in a gilded ballroom and all eyes are on us as my ball gown swirls against the polished marble floors.
I curse you, Walt Disney, for putting such notions in this dreamers head! I am a mother. I cook; I clean; and I love my family and I certainly don’t have time to deal with this Disney Syndrome. I don’t live in a fairy tale but a very wise man (my husband) once told me, “Life was not easy in the beginning for those Disney princesses.” No, life is not easy but I can dream. I can dream that someday I will be the belle of the ball. I don’t need the glass slippers or the fairy god mother, I can however, make a New Year’s resolution. My New Year’s resolution is to do something glamorous in 2017; to feel like Cinderella and the most fabulous version of myself , of course.
So, wake-up and watch out Cinderella, I’m coming for you!