In Which the Peasant Princess exchanges her sword for a tiara, is Rescued by Her Dragon Slayer and Does a Lot of Swooning.
photo by ratzz
So, it’s been a week that I have been working on the Peasant Princess Project. I’ve been working real hard on all this, and things have been going smashingly well… for the most part. But it isn’t all stars and sunsets in our little kingdom, and to hammer that point home, I’m going to share a little personal account in the interest of full disclosure and “Becoming Real.”
On Wednesday of last week I had a mini meltdown when I needed my husband to be a hero for me and he looked at me, raised his eyebrows and acted like, “since when?” I’ve come to realize I’ve laid a lot of bad groundwork over the years and I think it’s a case of “You’ve paved this road, now walk on it.”
Here’s the thing. I’ve always been a sword wielding kind of girl. Had to become strong to overcome tough stuff and learned to roll up my sleeves and mostly plow through when the going gets tough (not always, I’ve had my moments of absolute breakdown, it’s like when I start to unravel I *really* unravel. Like, all the way. ) But for the most part my husband has come to expect strength and perseverance from me. That I’ll hold the fort down no matter what and keep it together and keep an even keel. He thinks I’m a real warrior princess. I’m pretty strong. But not as strong as he (and others) think I am. That’s because I put on a good show. Well, not really… I mean, I try really, really hard to be strong and I do a good job much of the time, but the truth is that I try so hard, expect so much of myself, that nobody realizes that I am really spreading myself thin, really struggling, really working to the point of blood, sweat and tears to keep that even keel. *I* don’t even realize. Until it all starts to unravel. So things came to a head this week and I learned something about myself and he learned something about me and things all of a sudden got a whole lot sweeter.
My husband got home at 5:30 on Wednesday. I had been consciously trying to prepare for his arrival with the whole “oasis” mentality, freshening myself up, tidying the house, getting the kids quiet and occupied so I could greet him sweetly at the door. It worked. We talked about our days, I told him everything was good (it was at that point, but it had been a pretty wearing day). I got a nice supper on the table for us and two little rugrats (the rest of the kids were at a birthday party), which we enjoyed and then headed out to our friends house for cake and ice cream.
So we get to our friends house and no sooner do I take a seat and my exhaustion hits me. I tend to shut down right after supper anyway, and this had been an extra busy day. We visited for awhile, ate cake and I tried to keep myself from yawning, that’s how tired I felt. 8:00 on the dot I went to my husband and told him, “I really need you to take me home. Now.” The thought of still having to get kids washed up and in bed was grating on me. I was that “done”. He was gracious, I was nervous, he could tell, and he did his best to help get the kids dressed up and out the door. All seemed well.
We arrive home and start the whole evening routine and he unwittingly stepped into quicksand territory. Poor guy, he didn’t even see it coming. He said that foul four word phrase that will get any woman’s hackles to to stand on edge. Especially when she is tired and irrational. “I don’t understand you.” Only he said, “I *really* don’t understand you.”
I stared at him with a blank expression for a moment and then said, “What? You don’t understand how I can be exhausted after spending the last 13 hours in the company of 7 children?”
He started back pedaling…pretty fast. “No, of course not, it’s not that. It’s just that when I came home you were all fine and happy and then wham… you’re done.”
More blank stares from me. “Uh-huh. That was me at 5:30, this is me at 8:30.”
“But how can things change so quickly?”
He got a lot of blank stares that night. “Quickly? Three hours in my world do not pass by quickly. At times they feel like an eternity when you are dealing with kids in their terrible twos, feisty fours, silly sixes, sassy sevens and teary tens.”
I’ll spare you the three hour dialogue that took place here (after a half hour of silence and tears) but what came out of it was sweet. What came out of it was a conscious realization on my part that while it is okay to try really hard to be all I want (and he wants) me to be, it is very, very important that my husband understands and appreciates how HARD life is for me. I am not doing anyone (especially myself) any favors by making this look easy.
Here’s the thing. I’ve too long put myself in the position of wanting to be my husband’s hero. Wanting to be everything, do everything, make everything wonderful for him. That’s all good and right and wonderful. To a degree. Not the hero part. I’m supposed to be his *helper*. The truth of the matter is that he is supposed to be my hero. And if I am so busy trying to be Xena the Warrior Princess… well, I really put myself out on a limb. And I leave him down there looking up.
So that night I cried, and said I was tired and I just wanted him to say, “I totally understand, Baby, just go and let me take care of everything.” period. And he said that he was happy to do that, he just hadn’t recognized my need, because I do not appear needy.
Ka-ching.. Light bulb moment. For both of us. I told him, “I am needy! Very needy!” and he smiled and said, “Okay, Princess. I’ll take care of you.”
Swoon.
The next day I got an instant message that read; “Tonight I will make sure you have a wonderful night, even if I have to slay a hundred dragons.”
Swoon.
On Sunday Prairie Guy had to go early to church and I came in time for Sunday School with the rest of the crew. He was watching at the window for my arrival and came running out to help me unload the kids and get them inside.
Swoon.
After service he asked me for my keys and went out to start my vehicle for me. (It was cold… very, very cold).
Swoon.
He’s been opening doors for me, taking children from my arms, physically removing me from tasks to complete them himself.
Swoon.
He lit candles in our bedroom before I came up (okay, okay, so it was to cover up a preceding malodorous emission of gas, but still… cover up is good!
Okay, so maybe that didn’t exactly make me swoon, all things considered, but it did make me smile.
Can you tell I am liking this whole hero reversal thing?
Yeah. I’m liking it alot. It’s making me feel like a real princess. And it’s making me feel pretty starry eyed about my dragon slayer. It’s all good.
