I often feel sorry for my daughter when it comes to our reading repertoire at home. Her older brother seems to call the shots - and we spend much of our time subject to his personal “reading list.” First, Thomas the Tank Engine, then Diego, and now the entire Star Wars series.

So tonight, I pulled Cinderella off the shelf in pure “girlie” rebellion. As I revisited the story of beautiful Cinderella and her wicked stepsisters for the first time in years, I could see why so many mothers of my generation cringe at the mention of these old-school princess fairy tales.

Poor pitiful girl in dire straits meets dashing young boy, is rescued, falls magically in love, and lives happily ever after. 

So it is a little passe. But whatever. I can let that whole thing go. A lot of girls seem to get a kick out of the whole starry-eyed dream of falling madly in love with their “prince” and galloping off into the sunset. I remember being that girl.

So it’s not the male/female relationship in the story that got my attention this time around. It was the fact that none of these poor women have any good girlfriends! In fact, most of the other gals in the story are out to get them. 

Having just come off a rather fantastic weekend away with my girlfriends as we celebrated a 40th birthday with champagne, dinner out, and lots of great stories and laughter …. I was struck by the fact that poor Cinderella - and so many of her counterparts (Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, and Rapunzel) - are pretty much alone in the world.

They seem to have plenty of animal friends to keep them company, I guess. But where’s their “right-hand gang?” 

Who cares if they’re pining away after some cute guy on a horse. Most of us dream of falling in love. But what’s so sad about these stories has nothing to do with the boy — and everything to do with the girlfriends who aren’t around.

Closing the ultra-pink fairy-tale book and kissing my 3-year-old daughter on the forehead before sending her off to dreamland, I silently vowed to myself to tell her all of the other fairy tales that were never told. 

The ones about finding your long-lost best girlfriends, your “go-to” ladies who will be there for you when Prince Charming loses his pizzazz or is simply working late at the office — again.

The ones who’ll notice your new haircut, listen to you “talk through your problems” for hours, and gladly share a slice of better-than- sex chocolate cake with you after a perfectly filling dinner. 

Sure, I hope that my daughter finds her Prince Charming - if she’s looking for him. But I want to send her out into the world searching for something else at the same time — a friend, or a pack of friends, who will share with her the hills and valleys of life as only girlfriends can.

The ones who’ll understand how much it hurts when that guy doesn’t ever call back and who’ll know how hard it is to take off that extra baby weight and find a bra that actually fits after nursing. 

I’ve been lucky enough to find my “soul-sisters” during the various stages of my life. A few have stayed the course, and a lot of them have changed through the years. But they’ve always been there — to call on when times were really great and when they weren’t. 

And I can only hope the same for my little girl.

Besides, what good is a dance with Prince Charming at the ball if she doesn’t have her best buds to celebrate with afterwards?

I’ve been eating a lot of cereal lately (and I don’t mean for breakfast).  And I know that’s not good. But there’s just not enough time to go around, it seems. When I’ve got a few minutes, the last thing that I want to do is actually spend time preparing myself something to eat.

Now, I know that this isn’t something that I should keep up, because the habit leaves me with two things: an unsettled stomach and a frazzled day.

I mean, the day’s hectic no matter how you slice it — between school & preschool drop-offs, meetings for work, projects to complete, and school & preschool pick-ups. Not to mention those necessary evils, like grocery store runs and bank deposits.

But eating a mug (not even a bowl, mind you) of cereal at my desk only causes the events of the day to come colliding together all the more dramatically. 

I know what I need to do. I need to take the time to stand at the kitchen counter long enough to slice a tomato, wash a handful of lettuce, and smear some hummus or something on some bread … and then take a seat at the table to quietly enjoy and DIGEST my lunch. 

In the end, I really won’t get that much less done. And I not only will have given my mind - and my body - a much-needed break, but also the gift of the moment. 

I require my kids to sit in one place when they dine in our home. I say things like, “Your body won’t be able to use all that good food to grow if you don’t SIT DOWN!” I’ve even taken away numerous meals when my children have stood up and walked around the room one too many times.

So why don’t I hold myself to the same standards of proper dining behavior? Well, I should. And I will. As soon as I finish this mug of frosted mini-wheats ….

Almost six years after diving-in to this whole parenting thing, I’m just now realizing that I don’t have to witness my child’s every breath to be a good parent. What a relief. I can finally feel good about going to the bathroom alone.

I swear that it was only days after finding out I was expecting my first child that complete strangers began stopping me in the grocery store to say, “It goes by so fast! Don’t blink!”

“Don’t blink.” That’s still one of my favorites. I get it at least three or four times a week. 

The ever diligent person that I am, I’ve always taken these comments to heart — meaning that I’ve spent a lot of hours in my children’s faces. I’ve worked really hard at being present and available to them. They have been the center of my life.

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, so someone said. 

I think that all of those hours attending to my kids’ every whim, determined not to BLINK and miss one precious moment of their lives …. has resulted in two very attention-needy children. They’re really great, fun-loving kids. But they demand a lot of one-on-one time from us.

Naturally - since I’ve been so desperately trying to make the most of this fleeting moment in time, I’ve resisted sending either of my kids to preschool. 

Until recently. 

With a work schedule that demanded it, I had to give in. My daughter began preschool last week.

And guess what? Not only did she have a great time, but I was delighted to see that she really didn’t grow all that much in the five hours that we were apart. 

She enjoyed making some new friends, I got some work done, and we had a delightful afternoon and evening together after that.

Perspective is a good thing. I’m sure that looking back, the years when our kids are little do seem to go by in a flash. 

But the thing is, we can’t hoard time — no matter how hard we might try. So it’s best to just let go and enjoy each step of the journey, instead of fretting about when it’s going to end.

As for me, I’m finally getting up the nerve to blink from time to time. And it feels good.

Most moms I know struggle with guilt. When we’re working, we feel guilty that we’re not playing with our kids. When we’re playing with our kids, we feel guilty that we’re not working.

Those of us who are arts-and-crafty blame ourselves for not spending more time hiking and biking with our children, while we outdoorsy-types feel guilty that we don’t expose our wee-ones to more arts-and-crafts projects.

It’s a lose-lose situation - and really kind of funny, if you think about it. What’s interesting is that “guilt” seems to be epidemic with our generation of mothers. But like so many aspects of 21st-century parenting, I don’t think that our foremothers could relate.

I’ve spent a lot of time with women whose days of child-rearing ended before the second World War began … and they just didn’t experience “guilt” as young mothers. Why is that? 

First of all, I think they were just too busy. Yes, we’re busy. But we’re busy in a totally different way.

While mommies of today run companies, drive carpools, and  dash around town picking up and dropping off this and that, the mothers of yesterday were starching and ironing sheets, canning vegetables, baking pies from scratch, sewing dresses, and folding diapers.

They were physically occupied every minute of every day. They didn’t have the luxury of time or the burden of modern psychology to fuel the fire of self-doubt and second-guessing.

I think that the expectations of parenting were different then, too. Children were not the center of the household. Their opinions, wants, and (sometimes) needs came second to those of the adults in the home. For better or for worse. 

A mother’s life was not about pacifying her children. It was about keeping them clothed, fed, and bathed.

Nowadays, we crave a relationship with our kids that is much more complicated. We talk a lot about quality time and connectedness. My grandmother looked at me cross-eyed when I once asked her if she ever played games with her five daughters.

I’m not sure how to keep us all free and clear of the mommy guilt-trap, but I do know that it’s all relative. At the end of the day, if we plan well and allocate our time wisely, we are gifted with more time with our kids than possibly any generation of mothers that has preceded us.

Instead of over-thinking it, we should embrace these precious moments for what they are, feel grateful that we aren’t darning socks, and then guiltlessly move on.

Lately, I’ve been feeling betwixt and between when it comes to my choices around work and family. Welcome to the party, right?

I think that most moms with school-age children struggle with the many hats they wear. Not just “doing” it all - but “being” it all.

There’s a part of me that is admittedly old-fashioned when it comes to my deep-rooted beliefs about marriage and motherhood.

I want to be home with my children baking apple pies and tending the backyard vegetable garden. 

But I also grew up watching T.V. shows like, Laverne & Shirley and Cagney & Lacey. All I need is a CB radio and a red sports car, and I’ll set the world on fire.

I can’t be the only one who carries around idealistic snapshots of myself - mental photos that don’t always jive with one another. 

I have a favorite one of me in the garden. My hair is pulled back in a twist, and I’m filling a bowl with snap-peas, while my children run circles around me in the yard.

Another image captures me busily typing away at my computer with a hot mug of coffee on my desk, while the phone rings steadily in the background - a long list of agents vying for my business.

The homemaker. The world-famous writer and business woman.

Ahhh .. to be both - and to be neither - at the same time. One day, perhaps it will all gel together.

But for now, I mix a little bit of “mommy” with a little bit of “professional” and call it a day.

Gracie has a brilliant memory. I have a feeling that it might be photographic. She says that she “sees” the scenes that she plays out for me blow-by-blow in the life-story interview that I’m doing for her. (I just launched a personal histories arm to my business - in large part due to my relationship with Gracie.)

Gracie can tell me what she was wearing, what the weather was like, and what she ate during certain seemingly insignificant events throughout her life …. beginning around age 3. I can barely remember what happened two days ago. And I’ve got 60 fewer years to keep up with!

Perhaps it’s just good genetics. Gracie’s mother lived into her mid-80s and sounds as if she was a rather sharp woman until the end. But I also have to wonder if her unusually acute memory is the result of more than just good genes. 

Gracie doesn’t waste her time dwelling in the past or fretting about the future. And even though you could argue, “well, what would you expect? She’s 96,” I think she’s always been someone who lives fully in the present. She celebrates every moment - often with a clap of her hands and a laugh. I don’t think that these are traits you pick up this late in life. I think she has always lived this way.

So why can she remember in minute detail the interior of the church where her son was married over 40 years ago, when I can’t even tell you what I had for breakfast yesterday? I think it’s because she drinks in her surroundings, doesn’t take one moment for granted, and says a silent “thank you” for every breath she takes.

The rest of us often are just plundering through life, doing a half-dozen things at any one moment - or at least thinking about them. Gracie lives a life of faith, trusting that God will see to all of those minute details that we run ourselves ragged trying to control. 

She just goes with it - and knows that it’s all going to work out just as it should. And so she’s free to notice the depictions on the stained-glass window, the words her husband says to her as they walk through the door of the church, and the color of the dress her son’s new mother-in-law wore that day. 

So I tend to think that Gracie’s memories are so vivid because she really lives each moment …. with all of her mind, body, and spirit. She never fails to “show up” in the here and now. And her unwavering faith gives her the ability to let go and to be fully present to the miraculous details of the world unfolding around her.

I guess the lesson learned here is that if I want a “memorable” past, I need to work a little harder at living in the present today.

In recent months, I’ve committed myself to cutting back on my coffee intake — with a limit of one cup of regular brew per day. In the past, I would make a pot of coffee in the morning and sip on it throughout the day. One cup at the break of dawn, one around mid-morning, and then a pick-me-up between 3 and 4 p.m.

Now that I’m enjoying only one mug of joe every 24 hours, I’ve noticed that I relish it like never before. I sit down, hold the cup snugly in my hands, breathe in its sweet aroma, and take my first sip. There’s no rushing around the house with a quick swig here and there. For me, that cup of coffee in the morning is to be savored … because it’s the only one I’ll get.

This morning, as I was tenderly cradling the mug in my hands, it occurred to me that all things seem to taste, look, and feel better when they’re in limited supply. 

The recession has forced many of us to cut back on our consumption of items we previously may have taken for granted, whether it be dinners out at a restaurant, new clothing purchases, or home renovations. But I think that there’s a case to be made that the special-occasion dinner out tastes a lot better when it happens once a season instead of once a week. 

In the end, we may discover that doing with less leaves us with a greater sense of appreciation for the luxuries we do have — when we have them.

I celebrated a birthday last week, and I’m sorry to say that I didn’t approach it with the best attitude. If the 35th anniversary of my birth had been a doorway, then I probably would have sidestepped through it, all the while looking longingly over my shoulder at the wonderful world I was leaving behind on the other side. 

But I came to my senses just in time — thanks to a few encounters in the days leading up to the big celebration. I learned that each birthday is like a park bench along the path of life, providing a nice quiet space to sit, gaze out upon our past, present, and imagined future, and soak in the beauty of those people and places that give meaning to our lives.

A friend of mine turned 96 years old just two days before my own birthday. Although I didn’t actually see Gracie on her big day, I have a feeling that she probably wore her favorite matching red beret and scarf. Gracie doesn’t sidestep through birthdays. She may do her fair share of reminiscing, but I don’t think that she ever wishes to be in any place or time other than where she is. Instead of trepidation, she approached her 96th birthday with a sense of gratitude and lightheartedness. 

The day before I blew out the candles, I conducted a life-story interview of a 75-year-old woman with four grown children and a number of grandchildren. When I asked her to recall the best day of her life so far, she took me back less than five years. She had led a rich, joy-filled life, but her best years are right now.

The morning of my birthday rolled around, and I was talking with my mother-in-law about a recent dinner party that she and my father-in-law had attended with some of their closest friends. Apparently, the dinner conversation digressed to roaring laughter about the number gravity was doing on their faces and bodies. They joked that within a few years, they’d have to rely on voice recognition to identify each other due to their drooping eyelids. But they all agreed that it was a really good thing that they were all going through the sometimes cruel process of aging — together.

That same night, I celebrated my birthday at an elegant restaurant in upstate New York with my husband of 11 years, my best friend of 15 years, and her husband, who feels more like a brother-in-law than anything else.

When we threw all caution to the wind and ordered two bottles of wine, I suddenly realized that we were not only celebrating my life — we were toasting our separate, yet shared journeys.  How could we possibly mourn the times left behind when we were traveling with such great company? 

My mom called as we were just finishing dinner. She greeted me with, “Parent Patrol. It’s 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?” I did. Mine were safe at home in their warm beds, while my mom’s oldest daughter was sitting in a candlelit restaurant feeling the warmth of friendship and love embracing her. 

As my cell phone snapped closed, I was filled with a deep sense of gratitude for the people in my life. My friends. My family. And those who may just be passing through but leave golden nuggets of wisdom in their trail.

May we all learn to be a little less cynical when it comes to our birthdays — and a lot more joyful. There is much to celebrate.

When Gracie and her husband returned from their honeymoon in the early 1930s, the newlyweds moved into a two-bedroom apartment. They slept in one room, and Gracie’s mother occupied the other. She lived with them until she passed away at the age of 85.

I am a Gen X’er. In my world, people get married, move into their own place, then retire, and often move again. As Gracie has explained to me, though, it’s only fairly recently that Americans have had the luxury of retirement and independent living.

When she was growing up, retirement homes didn’t exist. If you could no longer live on your own and had the financial resources, then maybe you would move into a nursing home. But not likely. Chances are — you’d move in with your children or any relatives that would take you.

In Gracie’s mother’s case, she was a widow. She received a small stipend from the government to care for Gracie. But once Gracie got married, that monthly income disappeared. Having no way of supporting herself, she became part of her daughter’s new household.

We have moved so far away from this mindset today, it’s hard to believe that we’re only talking about a gap of 70 years or so. Our expectations are out of control, in comparison. The fancy wedding, the house, the car, the entertainment system, the bulging 401K. Where do I begin?

Gracie’s wedding reception was held in her mother’s living room, her honeymoon was at the family cottage in western New Jersey, and she wore one maternity dress throughout her entire first pregnancy.

Every day across the country, people are losing the lovely 3,000-square-foot Colonials that were unheard of just 50 years ago. Our SUVs are being repossessed. And our retirement savings are dwindling quickly.

There’s a lot of talk, of course, about how Americans are having to “size down” their lives in order to adjust to the new norm. But the way I see it, we need an entirely new skill set.

It’s going to take more than just doing without a few extras. We have to lower our expectations — and that’s not such a bad thing.

But how do we even begin?

It might do us some good to take a cue from the remaining members of Gracie’s generation. They’re the ones who know what it means to live simply and earnestly. They did it for a long, long time. And from what I can tell, they were pretty happy folks.

“You can be bigger socially than you have ever been in your life. That’s sure. (But) you can’t grow socially unless you help others grow also.”

Wiliam H. Danforth, 1931

During those first few years of motherhood, my social circle grew immensely. I suddenly found myself reaching out and connecting with women like never before.

My formerly introverted self was now carrying around a pen and paper for chance phone number exchanges and then actually calling to set up “play dates” (for our then 3-month-olds.)

Those friendships that developed during the early days of motherhood are still incredibly precious and sustaining to me. But I recently realized - as my energies began zeroing in on my own rekindled career objectives - that my “rolodex,” so to speak, was comprised completely of women between the ages of 32 and 42 with two to three kids each and a husband.

It had never occurred to me that this was a problem. In fact, I would have gone merrily along my way had I not been forced by my business objectives to break out of my mold and meet new people. And wow! — I was shocked at how great it felt!

As I move throughout my days now, getting together with people from so many different walks of life, ages, and backgrounds … I feel a tremendous energy that I haven’t felt in years. It’s a kind of social energy, I guess. And I had no idea that it was missing in my life - until now.

I’ve joined a local networking group, as well as another association related to my line of work, and I’m getting ready to add one more women-in-business organization to my list.

Someone made a comment at one of these meetings recently that none of us would be there (at the meeting) unless we were solely motivated by the need or desire to grow our business. Well, I have news for that person.

I may be out to lunch on this one, but I like to think that we’re also there to help each other grow. I know that I am.

Nothing feels better than to help someone else achieve their goals, whether they’re professional or personal pursuits. It doesn’t matter. In the end, it’s really all personal, anyway. We’re all people - with hopes and passions and dreams.

What a great moment it is when we break out of our narrow mindset long enough to fully appreciate those heartfelt aspirations in another person. To me, that is the “social energy” that makes all things in life and business possible.

And when that can happen, the experience of being part of a business group or a social network or whatever you want to call it is so much more fulfilling than being holed up in your office or kitchen, for that matter, alone with your thoughts and ideas.