I went away for the weekend and it was GLORIOUS. Listen, I know I tend to exaggerate for effect, but this is simply the truth: I have not had several days free of responsibilities (read: children) in, um, a really REALLY REALLY LONG TIME, and so with the help of a few amazing girlfriends, I spent 48 hours doing every ridiculous cliched “GIRLS’ NIGHT OUT” activity we could think of, far away from my delightful but needy family.
We: Ate sushi, drank wine, went to a spa and wore ridiculous robes, window shopped, made chocolate, gabbed endlessly, took pictures of our food, consumed a metric ton of chips and pico and bacon (not all at once), and donned matching pajamas. I cannot tell you how healing this was. I am terrible at putting myself first and so over the last few months I have just become more irritable and cranky in the name of “doing the right thing” (spoiler: not actually the right thing if you’re turning into a jerk!) until Otto sat me down one day and informed me that I needed to go on a trip. “I don’t care where you go,” he said. “Just take a couple of days and go have fun.” (He’s the best.)
It was amazing and then I came home and reality smacked me in the face, because that’s how it goes. I wasn’t even unpacked before it became clear that my son’s welcome home gift to me was… well, you can read about it on Alpha Mom, but you should probably bring some hand sanitizer and vitamin C.