In the seventeenth of our series, we present the secret thoughts of an adoptive mom of three kids: Emily and her new siblings, Grant and Lynn. This time Diary Mom escapes the mayhem at home for tea, cookies, and her first ever massage.
Who invented Pro-D days? Personally, I think it’s part of an evil plot by the school district to force parents to spend more time listening to their children whine about how bored they are!
Not that I have any objection to spending some good quality time with my kids. But just what is “good quality time”? Is it when Lynn wakes up at 6 a.m. on a Pro-D day when on every other school day I have to drag her out of bed at 7:30 a.m.? Or is it the warm, fuzzy feeling I get listening to the kids argue about whether or not the characters on the TV show “Dragon Tales” are playing Hide-and-Seek by the rules?
To be honest, I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed lately, but I can’t quite figure out exactly why.
It might be because I can’t seem to keep my house tidy for more than a few minutes. My bathroom looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in at least a month, and how can I possibly keep up with the endless laundry? I have given up the hope of my floors ever looking as if you could eat off of them. Of course that doesn’t seem to stop Grant from licking up the peanut butter he dropped.
But on a more positive note, I have come up with a few options to drag myself, kicking and screaming, out of this funk.
Option #1: Practice looking surprised just in case I come home to find Ty Pennington has performed an extreme home makeover for me.
Option #2: Become involved in a non-fatal car crash so I can spend a few days in the hospital watching TV that doesn’t include any show with talking animals. I would be waited on with unappetizing meals delivered to my bed. I may even lose a few pounds.
Option #3: Finally, use that gift card some friends gave me for a two-hour massage.
Well, I think we can all agree that if Ty were to actually show up at my house, he would run away screaming after one look. And besides, I would have to appear on TV and, since the camera adds at least 10 pounds, that is not going to happen in the near future. Sorry Ty.
As for Option 2, can you imagine how disastrous my house would look if I were away for a few days? I wouldn’t even be able to open the front door due to the build-up of shoes, boots, hats, coats, backpacks and rotting school lunches.
So, that leaves me with the two-hour massage option. Included with the gift card is free childminding at my girlfriend’s house. After a few phone calls, I have an appointment tomorrow at 10 am. Is it a bad sign that I got an appointment so quickly? Does this mean the masseuse isn’t very good? Or is it some psycho disguising his voice as female to lure me in? Can you tell I’ve never had a massage before?
The next day I drop the kids at my friend’s house to play with her two kids while I am getting de-stressed. I’m only running a few minutes late, but I’m not sure of the address because I spilled Emily’s Cheerios on the note this morning. After taking a few wrong turns and getting lost on a detour, I arrive flustered and stressed.
Her home is immaculate outside and inside, and once again, I feel inadequate. Although I will acknowledge that she doesn’t have any children, so that explains the cleanliness and lack of Lego.
She offers me herbal tea and homemade, warm chocolate cookies while my feet soak, and she places a warm pack around my shoulders. This is soooo wonderful, and I even like the soothing music. After a few cups of tea and only three cookies (I thought I showed remarkable restraint), the massage begins. Ahhh, this is definitely the life. No one talking to me, just relaxing music, and I hope having all that tea doesn’t mean I have to interrupt this session to visit the bathroom.
By the time the massage is finished I feel wonderful, hand over the gift certificate and head out into the real world. As I make my way through traffic, I am so relaxed I can hardly believe it.
But don’t think I’ve completely given up on the Ty Pennington option. It could happen—couldn’t it?
