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I need a vacation. Like a real one. None of this going to Disneyland, taking the
kids camping, going to a family resort bullshit. That's pretty much just finding a new, more
expensive location at which to chase my toddler around and be sleep-deprived. No, I need a true vacation.
I can't remember what dictionary it was, but it defined vacation as "a period of time that a
person spends away from home or business in order to relax without hearing 'MOM!'
or 'MAMA!' or any other parent-form of your name in your ear or from across the
way unless it is used by a Brazilian Masseuse waking you up from the slumber he
just put you in with his deep-tissue talent. E.g., 'Wake up, sexy mama.'" Got
Do I love being a mother to two beautiful, healthy
children? Yes. Do I like to go places with them? Of course. But, every parent knows that it's crucial to
have some solo time sans babies every now and then so that you can reenergize
and regroup. So that you don't
completely LOSE YOUR SHIT. There are
many reasons that a vacation is overdue for me. Aside from just really needing one with every fiber of my being, there
are some other things going on—signs, if you will—that are telling me I
need to get the hell out of Dodge and onto a white-sanded, cabana-serviced
beach, without my mini-mes.
1. I got busted having a conversation with my
boobs. As I was getting dressed this morning, and before I put on
my shirt, I caught a glimpse of my boobs in the mirror. Without hesitation, I started talking to the
two brown-eyed girls. "How's it
going? You two hanging in there? I know it's been nonstop for us this past few
years, but we're gonna make it. We may
look a little older, and we may be tired, but we're gonna be OK. You're looking good. Don't think you aren't. Proud of you." Somewhere toward the end of my Tony Robbins
titty pep talk, my husband walked in. I looked
up to see him smiling wearing a furrowed brow. He was sort of confused, but mostly delighted.
2.I got excited to see that my favorite episode of
Doc McStuffins was on. The one where Snowy
gets covered in jam. I wasn't allowed to watch much TV when I was a kid, but I do
let my 11-year-old watch a reasonable amount of it. I sometimes even put it on for my 16-month-old, Stella, when I'm getting ready, need to take a whiz or am cooking
dinner. Stella LOVES Doc McStuffins and, admittedly, so do I. The other day while
I was cooking dinner, the episode of Doc McStuffins, where Snowy can't go to "show-and-tell" because the jam from Doc's PB&J sandwich got all over him
inside Doc's backpack, was on. I quickly
turned off the burner, wiped my hands on my jeans and sat down with Stella to
watch it. I loved the way Snowy was so
understanding. And, who knew when that
episode would be on again?
I rock a fussy imaginary baby to sleep anytime I'm standing.
3. I haven't
shaved since 2004. Or at least it looks
that way. Two years ago, I would not only shave, but also fully wax, pluck, exfoliate, etc. on a
weekly basis. And then I had a
baby. It is clear to me that now I need
strong motivation to de-fur myself. Like,
bikini on the beach, bellini-in-hand type of motivation.
4. I can't sleep without the feel of baby kicks to
my throat. You know it's time to get away when you're so used to a
tiny, little body lying across your waist or curled up around your head like a
turban, or receiving sharp, baby kicks to your face and throat throughout the
night that you almost need them to feel good about sleeping. Sometimes, when I don't have a baby tushy
(and the smell of a slightly soiled diaper) pushed up into my face, I wake up
as if I'd had a nightmare.
5. My bath time is spent doing less relaxing, and
more "other things." And by "other things" I mean the other day I spent my 20
minutes in the bath making myself different bubble beards and pompadour hair-dos
and drawing Garfield with bath markers on my belly. All in that sweet, quiet time I have at night
after the kids are asleep.
6. I consume at least 5 sticks of string cheese a
7. I've spent at least a cumulative three hours trying
to perfect my Elmo voice. It's much better than my Fozzie Bear voice will ever be,
and it's more difficult to master than you might think.
8. I haven't worn dry-clean-only clothing since
And I miss it. I
really do. There's something truly
exhilarating about the risk that your armpit sweat may ruin that silk tunic, or
that the occasion is so special that you'll wear those black leather pants for
one night knowing they'll be put out of commission because you keep forgetting
to take them to the dry cleaners.
9. I sway side-to-side while having conversations
with people even without a baby in my arms.
I rock a fussy imaginary baby to sleep anytime I'm
standing. People usually don't make a
thing out of it. It's when I imaginary
burp the baby and react to its imaginary spit-up that things really get
This isn't the whole list but, nonetheless, it's clear that I
need a "you're losing it" intervention. And that's going to have to be at least a week at a faraway, exotic
location where everyone speaks French, and everyone wears white and only uses
yachts for transportation.
Or, maybe overnight at the Courtyard Marriott down the
street will have to suffice. They
probably have a killer continental breakfast.