Last weekend, I got away.
About five miles away.
Josh decided I needed a weekend away. Something about the way my eye twitched when someone went “Mom? Mom? Mommymommymommy?” gave him a clue. Work has been extremely busy for him, which meant I was giving new meaning to full-time parent, which we all know is stressful enough. Add in little things like Maura not pooping and my anxiety levels skyrocketing, and you end up with an eye twitch and wild look in your eyes.
He decided I needed a break. A little time to myself to recharge. Maybe a spa day as well.
I have a very nice husband.
He threw out ideas, places, I could go here or there. I could take the train to Cork. I could get a cheap flight to Italy if need be. Oddly enough, I didn’t want to go too far from home. I hate eating alone, and I wasn’t feeling adventurous after throwing out my back the week before. He suggested one place, but their spa prices were outrageous. I couldn’t relax knowing a massage cost THAT much.
We settled on nearby Dun Laoghaire. I know it well enough to know where I could eat, they have a pier that’s great for walking, it has a train line if I wanted to go into City Centre. And it’s so close to home, that Josh could come take me out to dinner so I wouldn’t have to eat alone. And their spa prices were normal enough that I could enjoy the thought of a massage.
So I packed a bag, my laptop, my Kindle, my neglected knitting and Josh took me out for a late breakfast before checking in on Friday, into a gorgeous room with a sea view and chandeliers. Chandeliers!
What can I say? I like sparkly things.
I spent a couple hours in the spa, relaxing with a hot stone massage. I read a book (“The Treachery of Beautiful Things” – I would give it 4 stars, my kind of book!). I knitted while watching “Strictly Come Dancing” – aka “Dancing with the Stars” only with British stars. I ate a can of Pringles and didn’t have to share with anyone. I wrote 2000 words while drinking tea.
And because I have a crafty husband who plots, I would come back to the room to find a vase of roses, a bottle of wine, a bag of bath goodies from L’Occitane that smells of heaven (well, lavender and roses.)
I didn’t have to share food, break up fights, change a diaper, worry about how much Maura did or did not poop. No one asked me what was for dinner, if they could have lunch, could they stick their face straight into the sugar container and inhale it. I wasn’t woken up too early with an elbow to the sternum or a dog whining from her kennel because she needs to go out. The only creature I had to feed was myself. I didn’t watch a single minute of SpongeBob.
It was nice.
It was good.
And then after that, I came home to a clean house, dinner cooking, desserts made, and Maura shrieking with joy to see me again (the older three were happy to see me too, they just don’t shriek about it).
Somewhere along the way, I did lose the eye twitch.
I don’t feel all on-edge and mommy burn out-ed. I’m not ready to spring forth from my bed singing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” either, but I never am. I do feel more able to face challenges of life again, and I like being around my family again – which is good, b/c they’re a nice family. I can think straighter again.
Most of all, I’m grateful for a husband who spoils me, who sees I need a break and gives me one in spectacular, enviable fashion. He’s better at spoiling me than I am at spoiling him, so the least I can do is brag about how great he is and thank him in big public fashion.