Did someone say spa?

I decided to take a little time for me.

A time to unwind, recharge, refuel, pamper, polish and exfoliate.

I made this decision after learning that Big Daddy was going to be gone all day on Sunday in a golf tournament, leaving me to spend another full, jam packed day on my own vs the tag team approach that weekends normally allow for.

Before Little joined the family I was a 'regular' at my local spa, visiting every 6-12 weeks for facials, or massages, pedicures, hot stone massage, body wraps and the like. I love the spa experience: donning the robes, drinking the 'specialty teas' and pouring water filled with fruit, cucumbers, lemons or other treats into goblets while someone takes the time to look after me and tend to my needs. Over a period of time I began to view the treatments as necessary, in order to maintian my youthful appearance, rather then viewing them as a treat. Sadly, during my pregnancy with Little and the post partum period there has been a tremendous time lapse since my last visit. 1 year to be exact. So when I made the phone call to book my appointment I did so without an ounce of mommy guilt.



It felt so good to make the call. In fact, once the call was placed and the treatments and times were booked a long time staff member greeted me over the phone. "Jennifer, it's Heather! It's been a while. I look forward to seeing you."



'Hi Heather, yes it has been a while. Too long in fact. I am looking forward to coming in. See you Saturday!".



When I hung up the phone, I felt a little bit like Norm from 'Cheers' as he took his regular seat at the bar. Moments after the appointment was booked a quick text to Big Daddy told him that I was escaping the mad house for a few hours and he was in charge.



When I woke up that morning I worked diligently to ensure all of the morning chores were done. The kids were fed breakfast, diapers were changed, the kitchen was tidied (knowing that if I left it for Big Daddy, I would only be faced with more dishes. He is many things, but a multi-tasker when children are outnumbering him, he is not), and I showered and began to mentally prepare for my treatments. Today's menu was a massage + pedicure. Delicious!



Moments before heading out the door I confer with Big Daddy to rattle off the last minute instructions for Little. The conversation included me explaining the appropriate time for his morning nap (knowing it would be delayed because Mommy and her Magic Boobies were otherwise engaged); providing suggestions for a mid morning snack, and what to serve for lunch. It was simple. So I thought. I explained that Cheerios & pear were a great idea for a morning snack and that the Couscous & Sweet pepper dish I made the day before were in a freezer tray, not yet having a chance to bag it. Before I turned to leave I asked Big Daddy if he had any questions and if he knew where to find everything. He said he was good, and that he had it all under control so I turned and got the hell out of Dodge.



I ran out the door and sjumped into the car, and noticed how brightly the sun was shinning. I put down the windows, cranked the tunes and I am pretty sure the tires left skid marks on the road as I peeled off down the street.



I arrived at my destination with time to spare and enjoyed reading trashy magazines before I was seated for my treatments. Two and a half blissful hours later, I emerge a new woman. I walk back to the car and begin to wonder what fun we can have in the afternoon.



As I walk into the house Big greets me and tells me to be quiet as Little is napping. Excellent! Daddy did have it under control! As I walk deeper into the house though, the real story begins to reveal itself.



There are new dishes strewn across the table, food has litterally been thrown onto the floor and the walls, the toy box has exploded, Big is still in his pj's (it is at this point, almost 1:30 pm) no one has had lunch and Little fell asleep only minutes before I walked in the door.



I peruse the mess, and I notice that of course Big Daddy has chosen not the couscous, but straight chicken to serve to Little and never thought to mix it with something, which explains why the food is on the floor and the walls. Poor Little has actually gone to bed hungry, is going to be overtired from lack of sleep (which you all know means a wakeful night ahead for mommy) and from what I gather, ended up crying himself to sleep because all other sleep strategies failed.



Frustrated to hell by the disaster that is my kitchen, I begin to tidy up for the gazilionth time. The lovely, blissful feeling that had only moments ago filled my aura, was starting to melt away. Now home, looking at the beautiful mess that is my life, I begin to feel the telling aches from a deep massage, and I notice that although I had a beautiful parafin wax applied to my heels- the damage of a year of neglect can't be undone in 1 treatment. So I reach for a glass of water, as well as a glass of wine, sit back on the couch, tip my head back and sigh. A mom's work is never done.