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I was the princess, now I’m the queen

What’s the difference between the princess and the queen? Very simple, when you’re a princess you are only responsible for some of the things, but when you are queen you are responsible for all of the things. Now that my prince charming, ruler of the kingdom of hard things is gone, I have to be queen of it all.

I’ve always admired the dedication to duty certain queens have.

My life’s path is deep in the valley right now, any time that happened before – career troubles, not being able to conceive, emergency hysterectomy, post adoption blues – I always had Eric’s hand to pull me up.


I have a strong faith that my life is guided by God and it is comforting to know that my journey was created by Him, the highs and the lows. Admittedly it sometimes feels impossible, but my goal is to be grateful and open while I’m down here and when I reach the mountain top again I will be a better person, a better mom, a better friend.


The other day I sold my princess Porsche. Mostly because I just didn’t like it any more. But also because I needed the money. (I’m saving the money post for a while, we will all enjoy it!)


Almost as soon as Eric died that Porsche felt like a millstone weighting me down. Eric used to have to fluff and fold it all the time, we even had an electric tire pressure filler because the PSI is so dang annoyingly precise on a 911. Gotta love that Teutonic engineering!


Both Eric and I were so proud of my Porsche. I used a couple of bonuses to purchase it and I loved driving it around town, as just my car, not my weekend car. As in, “What, it’s just my car.”


Adorned in the Porsche I could do anything, but didn’t really have to. I researched the 911 myself, negotiated it myself and paid for it myself. Not that Eric or I ever had our own money, we always shared everything. But I was proud of the hard work that allowed me to indulge in this fun.


The last gift Eric gave me was a gun metal matte wrap while I was in Italy. For the few weeks I drove it this summer, I caught three people taking photos. The car was not inconspicuous, it was the car a princess who was well cared for and carried few burdens would drive.


Cavalierly.

The millstone of responsibilities that comes with being a single mom, pushed me to practicality. A hundred thousand mile/ten-year warranty versus an after-market warranty? One-thousand-dollar oil change at the dealership or thirty dollars at Jiffy Lube? An all-wheel drive I can drive any day of the year or a powder puff whose tire PSI could only vary by a small amount? A car I can take to Costco or a car that my son can barely fit in the back seat of anymore?

I loved being spoiled by Eric, we were both so good at it. Now I have this underlying hum of sadness that dwells just above my smile muscles that is the fear of doing this alone, with no frivolity. Will I ever be spoiled again?

Obviously, I can do this, mostly because I have to, but it’s not even as daunting as I thought it would be. Well, at least not every moment.


I can feel the strong and caring hands of my neighbors pulling me up. I still stridently feel God’s will unfolding before me as I travel my life’s journey, and accept Eric’s.


However, I did kill the poison ivy, and I found it titillating. Perhaps I will enjoy being a queen after all.

Before

After


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