I really did.
I went to Northampton, Assachusetts and spent the weekend with my two best friends. Because it was my birthday—did I mention I turned 104 a few weeks ago?—I got my way for two days straight.
Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!
Ordinarily I'd worry that I sound like a brat when I say that but if you read my last post, you'll understand that before this trip I was on the verge. The mere sight of my home was enough to send me running. Literally.
And birthdays? What the hell are those? I have two children under the age of five—a good birthday for me is one for which I get to poop alone.
Having two entire days of me, me, me was decadent. I slowly walked through stores and thoughtfully examined items I might like to buy. I didn't have to carry Cheerios. I sat and chewed my food.
I even said no to a menial household task. My friend asked me to fill her ice cube trays and I said I couldn't. Actually I said, "Please don't make me do that." That might sound crazy and selfish but she had four ice cube trays and I just wanted a day where I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to.
That may have been the highlight of my trip.
No wait, sleeping until 10 am was. Or was it the no-kid-in-the-bouncy-seat-or-sitting-on-the-toilet-seat shower I took? Maybe it was when I sank into a leather chair at a bar and had a beer and caught up with my friends. Or maybe when I got fitted for a bra and found out I'm really a 32 CCC.
Fine, fine, I'm not all that, but the girls did get out and no one's in trouble for it.
Yes, my weekend was all that and then some. I'd forgotten what it feels like to relax. To be at one with yourself and your toilet. To just sit down.
If you're reading this and you have children I have one word for you: RUN. Go away for a weekend. Pack your bags and don't look back. Indulge in every wonderful mundane activity you didn't know you should appreciate before your children ate your brains.
They'll be waiting for you when you get back. Trust me.
P.S. No, I am not married to George Dubbayew.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.