I love fairytales. I want a fairytale. I want Prince Charming to find me, romance me with all he's got and propose — and trust me, I won't refuse. (Especially if he looks like a younger Brad Pitt or a gorgeous George Clooney.)

I believe that when you marry, it's forever. It's death do you part. I watched my mother uphold that vow for years while my father died slowly from Alzheimer's disease. And 20 years later, she's still faithful. She never even dated.

That, to me, is marriage.

I suppose that's why I never married in the first place, come to think of it. I didn't want to be stuck forever unless it was Brad Pitt. Make sense?

There's also the fact that in Quebec, about 70% of the population don't marry and live in common-law relationships. When a large group of people who share a culture don't believe in marriage, it's tough to be the outcast and convince your partner marriage is a good thing.

But I did dream about marriage. I wanted the ring. I wanted the white dress, and I wanted it from the beautiful tiny little wedding shop near Parliament Hills in Ottawa.

I'd walked past the store after closing time one evening, and the window had soft lighting on a beautiful, one-of-a-kind handmade medieval dress that had a circle of satin roses around the waist. It was $5,000. I fell in love.

I wanted a church wedding, because I was raised somewhat Catholic and thought that Catholic churches were gloriously magnificent and beautiful. (And because of that death-do-you-part thing I was talking about.)

Then I wanted a barbecue in my back yard. Cheap, easy, and fast. I wanted beer and music. I wanted to ditch the dress and have a party with people I liked.

End of story. That was it. No reception, no horse-drawn carriage, no petal-strewn walkways...just a ring, a dress, a church, and hamburgers. No marriage and no Brad Pitt, either. Oh well. I can still dream about it!

No, next week was not better. Next week was far too long for a little girl missing her daddy. I pointed that out. 

"Aw, don't make me feel guilty. I really don't want to feel guilty about this. I need time to do my own things and..." 

When you separate and you have children, be prepared. Be prepared to be the one who has to explain, gently, why we can't go see Daddy. Or why Daddy doesn't come have supper more often. Or why daddy has to leave to go home. 

Despite being used to this, despite knowing all the right words and the proper how-tos, I still feel the pain of having to disappoint a child when Dad just doesn't want to be a dad. 

Does it make me mad? Sure. Sure it does. Fathers should be there for their kids — all the time. 

What makes this such a hot issue when a couple splits up, though? I know married couples that live together and the father works 70 hours a week. He barely sees his kids. I know mothers too wrapped up in their own lives to care for their kids. 

When a couple splits up, why do people suddenly get all upset if dad doesn't want the kids for a day or a week? What changed beyond the situation before? 

I don't begrudge my ex his need for time on his own. No one should have to have their weeks full of work and responsibilities with no spare time left to relax and do what they want.

There's compromise, too. My girl wants to see her dad. Dad wants to be alone for a while. "How about if we come at 3 and just stay for a few hours? You have time to do your stuff and she'll be happy to see you."

They say the mirror has two faces, and I think that's true. I don't think that one is simply a reflection of the other, though.

My second ex always had two faces: one that he'd present to everyone else in the world and one that he'd show to me.

People would always smile when they saw my ex. They liked him. He was friendly and personable. He would joke and laugh. He could be very helpful and forthcoming when he saw others were in a bind.

It didn't surprise me that people were shocked when we announced our separation. "But he's such a great guy," they'd say, aghast I'd consider leaving my partner.

Yes. He is a great guy. Just not with me.

I often asked my ex, "Why can't you be like that all the time? Why can't you be like that with me?" He couldn't see the difference. To him, he was being the very same with me, only more open and honest. I found him blunt and disrespectful.

My mother used to call me when the 6 o'clock news reported a man killing his girlfriend or a spouse beating up his partner. I can still hear the contempt in her voice. "Did you hear what they said about the guy? He was such a great guy."

I think that people who live together learn very quickly to take each other for granted. They relax their guard and assume that because they're a couple, they can be themselves. They don't have to maintain appearances in the comfort of their own home.

Now, when my ex and I talk about other couples, we're a little smarter and a whole lot wiser. When we hear of someone who sounds dissatisfied, we give each other a knowing glance. Appearances must be upheld in public; behind closed doors, it's a different story.

I've also learned how to answer people who mention how my ex is such a great guy. "Yes, he is," I smile. "Just not with me."

Ex Number Two had been causing me some definite grief. But like the sun rises in the east, he makes a sudden mental shift and it's all coming up roses again.

I knew it would; he cycles through his pattern faster than my washing machine cycles through a heavy load.

His lows remind me every time why I left him. I feel nothing. The abusive behavior comes back, the mind f**k returns and I feel like I've been tossed five years back into a quagmire of mental hell - and I don't even live with him.

But when that cycle spins around, ooooh...

I had been having a bad time during the March break. Both kids had been at home for the week. The teen slept until 2 p.m. every day and didn't want to participate in activities. The toddler screamed and bounced off walls begging for an energy release.

I watched my workload pile up with no chance to dig in and earn some money. Fine, I thought. This is my chance for some forced vacation. We'll go to a museum. In the city. Two hours away. In winter.

The drive took nearly three hours, my teen moped through the halls and my toddler didn't care for any exhibit that didn't ring, pop, snap, or buzz. The dinosaurs turned her on, and we spent a lot of time patting monster replicas.

I got a parking ticket I couldn't afford, we'd forgotten to eat supper and everyone was hungry and there was black ice on the roads. Let's just say I should've stayed home.

The next day was a snowstorm and we were back to bouncing-off-the-walls-chaos. My teen begged to go snow tubing. My toddler wanted to watch cartoons all day long. I wanted to cry.

The day after, I woke up determined to have a Good Time. Snow tubing it would be! The sun shone brightly, it wasn't cold, and I was ready.

Actually, I remember their 50^th wedding anniversary. My ex's parents were remarried in church and there was a huge party afterwards. Good times, sure.

At one point, the priest was making a touching speech. My ex-husband's mother began to choke up with tears in her eyes, and she leaned a little bit closer to her husband very lovingly while dabbing at her face with a Kleenex.

He'd slapped her hand away. Right there in a church full of people, this man who'd just promised to love and honor slapped his wife's hand and shushed her. It was quiet, it was subtle, but he'd scolded her in public for showing affection.

Wow. That's a reason to celebrate?

This year, with the 60^th anniversary looming, I can't help but feel like it's some show. What are we celebrating? That they haven't divorced but probably should have? That they've stayed stuck in a relationship without emotional support or affection? That a couple doesn't permit themselves to show caring tenderness in public?

Sorry, but I'm not buying.

I'll tell you who I think should have wedding anniversaries. Those TV commercial couples that sweep each other up in some impromptu dance by the fireplace when they learn of their retirement settlement check coming in should have an anniversary.

Those Kodak moment couples with shining eyes and fond smiles while they play together in some field should have an anniversary. Those too-pretty couples getting engaged with a DeBeers diamond in a dim-lit fancy restaurant I could never afford should have an anniversary.

Hey. At least they look like they love each other.