Sometimes I reflect back and consider things I would tell the younger version of me.
For example, I wish I could whisper in the 18 year old ear of my former self and say,
Puh-lease, for the love of your parents and all that is dear, do not get that tattoo. Although it might look cute now, that tiny butterfly fluttering across your shoulder really distracts from the glamour of your wedding dress in six years. In twelve years it is also hard to explain to why Mommy has coloring on her back.
To my 27 year old self, waddling and pregnant with my first child, I would whisper:
Enjoy those 36 trips a day you make to the bathroom. Those will likely be the last moments alone you will experience in the restroom until the children leave for college.
Am I the only one whose children knock as they are already half-way into the bathroom, with a volcano of questions erupting from their lips? And how come one of those questions always tends to be What are you doing, Mommy?
It is during these times, when I am attempting to have a few seconds to myself to regroup and relish the silence, that I finally understand the concept behind the Calgon, take me away! commercials of my youth. That mom soaking in her bath of pearly bubbles did not want to be swept down the drain (as I thought in my much younger days, thus vowing never to add Calgon to my own bath in fear of experiencing a similar fate). She merely wanted a few minutes to herself, minutes free from answering questions, heating chicken nuggets, and retrieving lost items.
It was during such an occasion, one in which both children had decided to invade my privacy by sticking their little heads into the shower to report news that only preschoolers could consider an emergency ( My sock is making my toe feel weird. ), that an idea came to me.
I need a mom-cation.
Last year that is exactly what my husband gave me for my birthday. One Friday afternoon, he had me pack my belongings, provided me with a large stack of magazines (Hello, Celebrity gossip!), and sent me to a plush hotel five minutes from our house. There was no need for a tropical locale or a famous tourist trap. All I need was a comfy bed, fast room service and a television that was not tuned to Max and Ruby 24/7.
For the next 48 hours, I proceeded to do anything I wanted. I slept late. I read a book in peace. I went shopping without having to push a stroller and carry a minimum of seven snacks in my bag.
I did not have to answer one question or resolve one sibling spat.
It was glorious.
Upon returning home at the end of that weekend, I declared it a tradition. I told my husband to bypass the jewelry store, skip out on the gift cards, and simply provide me with a few hours away from my duties as a mommy.
My birthday for this year just came and went a few weeks ago. Again, I found myself alone in a luxury hotel room, eating room service while watching sappy romantic comedies on a large flat screen television. There were no Sippy cups to fill or baths to give.
It was glorious, once again.