A Dream is a Wish your heart makes.

A Dream is a Wish your heart makes.
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I woke up around 4 am with a tingling down my left arm and I had to shake my right arm awake.

There has been a pinched nerve in my neck for a few weeks now.  It has become something I’m used to … unfortunately.

Saturday’s can be a challenge that I have learned to manage.  My daughter has dance and my husband is vehemently against it.  He takes every opportunity to mention this to her, “Dance won’t put food on your table”, he says.  He lectures because he thinks I am making both our children my copies.  While he does not encourage a love of the arts, this morning he wanted our daughter to take piano in lieu of dance.

I have always wanted her to do both, but finances are in the way. My parents help with dance.  He refused to pay (he also refused to pay for her school, but more on that another time).

I have looked around eBay and Craigslist for a free piano. The cost of a tuner and piano moving would be enough, but again $$.

The arts are a touchy topic.  It is where I first noticed and ignored the dissolution of our relationship.  The red flag… the concession I let pass that has haunted me ever since.

He never respected my life as an artist…. as a writer.  When we met he was embarking upon leaving a six-figure salaried career and from our first interactions, the self that he showed me seemed giving but what I understood as an almost overly generous person was in actuality someone who had a hard time not getting his way and wanted to take care of people, but not be taken care of himself.  To give is to receive.  He did not receive because he did not and does not like to owe anyone anything.

Back to dance… when dance lessons became a reality he did what anyone would do.  He pouted.

He didn’t make any comments when our little girl would dance around and friends would ask about lessons.  He only started talking about lucrative career choices…

Tennis would put money on the table; Math; Science…

It was alarming to me how he was so against it and I couldn’t imagine he would just cut himself from his child’s life in that way.

He did not attend her recital last year.

My attempts to portray normalcy to the other dance moms have failed.  But we have been pretty honest with each other.

“My husband doesn’t believe in it”, I’ll say. “He says dance is a waste of time.”

This might seem alarming to some parents or a relief to some.  How honest they are in their relationship, is what I imagine some might be thinking.

I’d mentioned in my last post that he was omitting my name and my presence, well Saturday morning it was back again. But this time he said what he has said before “… well if your Mama knows everything… Since your mama is so smart… “.   He was saying these things to our daughter because he bought new toothbrushes since we all had been sick and she and I use electric with exchangeable heads and last year I put toothbrush sanitizer in both bathrooms.

I kept my mouth shut Saturday morning and moved through the motions.  I was seamlessly able to get our son dressed and he dresssed our daughter.  Leotard and all.

These can be confusing moments but demonstrate his love for his children… they are also a very scary thing because of both the attachment and the potential harm being done.

I controlled myself Saturday morning.  As always, he helped the kids get into the car and because of the cold, I turned it on but moments late he opened the passenger side door, reached across the dashboard and with two fingers, punched the car power off.

I didn’t react… stared at the steering wheel and squeezed my fingers together.  It was a cold January morning and I turned the car on to warm it up.

When he left, I got out of the car and turned the light off.  I wanted to kick the basement door… so he would feel how angry I was.

But I didn’t.  What good would that have actually done.

I got in the car and we drove to dance.

On the way home, with the kids asleep, I drove past a house I am interested in.

I want nothing more than to move… to be a home owner because my children deserve a home, not moving around from place to place every few years.

My children deserve a home.

I said a prayer.  

Am I praying for the impossible?

This morning a man came to our front door with my wallet.  It had fallen last night in the snow.  It was wet and untouched.  He swore he hadn’t touched anything.

I was in shock.

In the commotion of putting the kids in the car on a snowy night, it had fallen out and buried itself in the snow.

It was returned, a little wet but in tact.

Miracles do happen.

Random acts of kindness.

So my house… my dream of owning a home.  Not impossible.  I’m doing the work and putting as much good into the world as I can because this life of overlooked pinned nerves and punched power buttons is not for me.

I am thankful for another day to share with you.

Dreams can and do come true.

The stranger who returned my wallet acknowledged that for me this morning.

Keep dreaming. Keep doing… Every. Single. Day.