There once was a little girl who never dreamed of her wedding or her knight in shining armor or her babies. She dreamt, instead, of rocket ships and space and knights (but the kind that do battle on horses with long weapons). She grew up and up, went to school for many many years, got married, and in due course had babies. Two of them. A boy and a girl. And she fell in love with these children, so much so that she decided to stop working and stay home to raise them.
Life went along, with its ups and downs, and she with it. One day an odd notion struck her. At first, it was this tiny little nag in the back of her head and then it grew louder and louder until it was a constant, nonstop roar.
Then out of nowhere, she opened her eyes and saw the reality of her life. She was NOT raising her children. These blessed, angelic, demonic creatures were, in fact, raising themselves for the most part. She herself appeared to be in an alternate universe, a matrix hooked up to computers and cell phones and blackberries and email and text messaging and large, flat-screen televisions.
And when she found this out for sure, our heroine roared with despair and anger, and tried to free herself, to be with her children. But the cords and attachments were long and deeply rooted, and the separation was not so easy. Her mind drifted. She grew restless and irritated.
In the new year, she resolved to somehow find a way to bring balance. To raise her children as she vowed to do and to raise herself as she aims to do. To be more present, more prayerful, more grateful, with more purpose.
Welcome to your life, Cocoa Mama. It has been waiting for you.
Love always, Nazie