Two weeks ago, I was frustrated by everything and I knew I was close to losing it. To top it off, my graduate classes started on Monday, so I had been going back and forth about whether or not I would try to get away, during my last free weekend for a while.
Well, my husband took one look at my mood and booked the hotel room for me so I couldn’t back out and waffle on whether or not I wanted to go.
I packed a quick bag, kissed the tops of my kids’ heads, and pried their little arms from my legs and went out the door. I got in the car and immediately felt weird. Like, when was the last time I got in the driver’s seat without first fussing at the kids to get in their seats? I put on my Beyonce CD (that has been on repeat since it dropped two months ago) and cruised first to the movies.
I saw The Help with my sister. Great movie, great message and I almost felt “normal.” But then I had an allergy attack and walked out of the theater with tomato-red eyes and what felt like the beginning of a sty on my upper eyelid. It was like my body didn’t know what to do with me being so far away from my house!
We then hit up Cheesecake Factory where she proceeded to tell me all about her new boyfriend (aww) and I dove face first into a plate of New Orleans shrimp. (Yum.)
After a couple other stops, I finally made it to the hotel room, where I promptly put my pajamas on, found a good movie on TBS, and watched it ’til I passed out.
It was nice. Great, actually. I was able to:
1) watch a movie with a message, without having to miss parts because someone (read: my kid) had to go to the bathroom, or they were bored or wanted my attention.
2) eat my food without my son begging for a piece and without my daughter complaining about what she will and will not eat.
3) sleep without waking up at 3 a.m. to get a kid a glass of water, or to assure them (for the 40th time) that there are no monsters.
I was just able to be”...me. For 22 hours, I was just”...me. And it felt so good.
I should really plan to have one of these getaways at least once a year. Last time I went away was when I was four months pregnant with my son.
He is now 3.
The mental break is priceless. Priceless. And I’m sure it’s going to make me a better mom during the stressful weeks to come.
How often do you get to escape from it all and just recharge your batteries? Do you make it a priority or does indulgent self-care fall low on the list?