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 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.

I was talking with a friend during after-school hours at the playground today. She mentioned that she has been struggling with this in-between time of year — with winter not fully arrived and autumn’s warmer and more colorful days long past.

Lately, I’ve been finding myself in a lot of conversations like this. But as we talked this afternoon, I began to think that there may be more to this “betwixt and between” feeling, that so many moms I know are experiencing, than simply the change of seasons.

Regardless of our individual life stories, a thin veil of anxiety and worry appears to be hanging over most of us. And it’s really no wonder. The economy comes up in almost every hockey-rink-sideline chat I’m involved in. Either a friend’s husband just got laid off, or a couple someone knows is in deep water with a home they can’t sell in a town where they can’t find work. Of course we’re on edge!

If the bottom hasn’t already dropped out from under us, we’re afraid it might happen at any time. That feeling of security – and perhaps naivety – that we enjoyed only a few months ago is now a happy memory. We’re worried about our jobs, our savings, our homes, and our futures. 

So if it’s not just a Vitamin-D deficit, and the uncertainty of the economic climate is really what’s bugging us, then how do we get out of our funk in time to enjoy the holidays?

I think that the answer lies in two life skills that I’ve personally been working on for years: letting go of fear and learning to adapt readily to change.

If we can accept that we don’t have control over most things in our lives — even though we like to think that we do — then we will be less attached to each situation’s outcome. And if we’re less attached to the outcome, then maybe we’ll be better equipped to ride whatever tide comes our way.

As for the holidays …. maybe we can start trying to see uncertainty as one of this season’s mysterious gifts. 

Christmas is really all about love (in the active tense). And we love most effectively in the here and now. Perhaps that uneasiness we feel about not-knowing-what’s-coming-next should be a cue to us to embrace the moment that we’re in – and to celebrate, more earnestly than ever, the love that we share with our families, our friends, and our neighbors.

I called Gracie around noon on Wednesday to tell her that I would be bringing a picnic lunch for my kids. We needed to get on the road to my parents-in-laws’ by late afternoon, and I was trying to fit in a number of activities in a short amount of time. Multi-tasking as usual, I thought that we could combine lunch with our weekly visit.

When we arrived at Gracie’s half an hour later, her small kitchenette-table was set as if we were sitting down to a formal Thanksgiving dinner.

Small china plates held triangular ham-and-mayonnaise sandwiches. And individually-wrapped servings of Cabot cheese were placed to the upper left of each plate and just above our napkins, which were tucked neatly inside red braided napkin-holders. Set at a perfect angle towards the back of the table, a little china serving dish held several petit fours for our dessert. She had filled ceramic juice glasses with fresh milk for the kids, and the china teapot was steaming with hot water, keeping warm in preparation for the boiling water which would soon be coming off the stove.

I discreetly placed the lunch box filled with my hastily-made pb&js under our coats on a chair by the front door.

After we sat down, Gracie picked up a card that she had pre-deposited next to her place setting. It contained a Thanksgiving wish sent to her by one of her many friends from afar. We always say the blessing at Gracie’s – even if we’re just having tea and cookies. So her friend’s good wishes became our prayer for that day.

Gracie has been trying to teach my children the proper way of asking for and receiving food at the table. Each week, she gently lifts the plate of cookies or brownies from the table, holds it just in front of my daughter, and asks, “Would you care for another cookie?” Then she waits patiently while my rather timid child decides whether she’s brave enough to reach for something.

So on the day before Thanksgiving, we sat and dined like royalty – eating dainty, lovingly-made tea sandwiches and drinking tea from delicate china cups. The table was covered with an elegant, white plastic tablecloth with pink flowers given to her by a 96-year-old neighbor, who is extraordinarily proficient at catalog-shopping via money orders. Everything around us had been placed with intention by a loving hand and a pure heart.

The fact that it was the day before Thanksgiving had little bearing on Gracie’s efforts to create a beautiful, inviting setting for her guests. She does this every week. And I would guess that she has been doing it for friends and family for well over 80 years.

While my life often consists of throwing pb&js together in two-minutes-flat so that we can cram an ice-skating session in before school starts (or any other variation of activities in succession), our time at Gracie’s feels like the calm in the eye of a tropical cyclone. The afternoon is a respite filled with ritual and tradition — the beautifully-dressed table, the pouring of hot tea for one another, and the moment of stillness while we listen to Gracie recite the blessing.

If my kids didn’t start getting antsy, I could sit with Gracie in this soothing, peaceful space for an entire afternoon. But the eye-wall of the storm closes in on me every time. There is dinner to be made, clothes to be washed, kids to be bathed, and work to be done.

Yet there is a lesson to be learned here. If Gracie’s home can provide a comforting haven for the soul, then why can’t my own? Granted, the number-one feature of my house is a couple of kids running laps around the staircase most hours of the day. But I can create rituals and traditions in our household that foster the quiet together-time that we find around Gracie’s table.

It’s just a matter of taking the time to be intentional.

I will begin small – perhaps lighting the candles at dinner, keeping fresh flowers or greenery as a centerpiece, or even sitting down with my children for afternoon tea parties.

Gracie has reminded me that the best way to show our love is through our time and attention … making ordinary together-moments true “occasions”.