I’m a big girl. Really I am. Yes, I cried at the airport when it was time to fly away for this “me” time that I promise I really will enjoy--and yes, the last thing I did before walking out the door was to clean three bathrooms so all the precious little bottoms in my house would have clean potties to sit on. But come on, it's hard when you're a stay at home mom to walk out the door and leave your "job" behind you, especially when your "job" is saying: "Don't go mommy. I will miss you sooo much."
How fantastic is that job? How many jobs out there talk back, and say such awesome stop time and put it in a bottle kinds of things when you take time off?
The "me" time has been plenty entertaining so far. First my bag weighed in 3 pounds overweight. Three pounds doesn't seem like much in relation to the other fifty, but the pesky things would have incurred a hefty $90 fee, so I crouched down and rummaged through the suitcase to see what could transfer to my already back-breaking carry-on. Extracting five pounds of hair tools to accompany me on the flight, I could have run a traveling salon in the sky. At least my husband can take comfort in the fact that there will be no leeway for shopping on this trip.
Then there was the enthusiastic medicine man at the airport newsstand--who thoroughly explained every size and variety of every kind of Tylenol to me, and his employee--who chased me down several gates to apologize on behalf of his boss who loves to pontificate on product selection (which came across as a different kind of overkill.)
But my favorite was the leisurely stroll to baggage claim. About half way there I was feeling so unstrapped for time that I opted not to take the moving walkway. Then I realized I had left my book on the plane--which is not acceptable when you are 20 pages away from the ending and you just have to know how it all turns out. So Miss I Have All the Time in the World high tailed it back to the plane only to find the door closed and no employee in sight. I searched for an official looking person and finally found someone to help me retrieve the book, but by this time my second trip toward baggage claim was not quite so chill. I did not want my suitcase circling the conveyer like a lost black canvas puppy, so I boogied to baggage claim in record time for someone carrying a salon on her back, and we were all happily reunited once again: Me, my book, my carryon(s) and 48, not 53 pounds of luggage that will sustain me through the next 5 1/2 days off from the world's greatest job.
I called my shuttle, settled in my room, and grabbed dinner in the downstairs cafe, where a very well-meaning waiter envied the fact that I was reading and said he'd only been able to sneak in two sentences at a time today in his own book. I must have served as true inspiration because after waiting for what seemed forever for my bill to come, the waiter happily announced that he'd just read SIX pages at once: His record for the day. So that's what the wait had been all about, but how could I not be happy for him?
So here's to stolen reading moments, heavy bags, kids who'll miss me, a husband who encourages me to go on such adventures, a mom who will watch my kids in my absence, hot baths at the end of the day, and laptops that can capture it all.
Stay tuned for adventures from DAY TWO.