Waking Up Me!

Oh, to be a princess. My heart longs for it. It is my unrequited desire. To be rescued rather than to rescue. Instead, I have always been seen as "the strong one", "a toughie"or "the underdog". Self-sufficient. Aloof. Always on the go. Stopping only for snuggle time with my grampy, thumb in mouth, blankie in hand. Even in all my badness (i.e. spitting, hitting, biting, climbing ladders to the roof, cracking him on the head with the paddle...just to name a few)--and maybe that's what he liked best about me, my naughty streak--he loved me just as I was. Even though it would be hard to put that little girl into the "princess" category, I still felt like one when I was with him. Prized. Beloved. A gift. In my youth, even though I was a rough-and-tumble tomboy, I loved to dress up in lovely gowns and high-heeled shoes. My Aunt Cathy had this old pirate-esque chest filled with jewel-colored gowns of velvet and silken materials, old shoes, jewelr...