Post by Rhonda on Feb 6, 2009 5:05:27 GMT -5
Getting Away
I don't get out much. Like most moms, I'm too busy doing mom stuff to take time for myself.
It wasn't always like this. Before I had kids, I had a career. Though I spent more hours nurturing my professional image in those days, it still seemed there was time left over for me. I'd make time to rejuvenate at a spa or unwind on a daylong shopping spree. Relaxing was a crucial component to the corporate image I was polishing.
Now, the only thing I polish is the furniture.
Having swapped the corner office at work in order to write from the corner bedroom at home, I now consider a trip to the grocery store without the kids to be a getaway. The business lunches I enjoyed at fancy restaurants were so long ago that the navy blue business suit I'd worn to them has gone out of style. I've cashed in the career and all the perks that come with it.
Oh, I'm not complaining. This is exactly where I want to be. So you can imagine the emotional tug-of-war I felt when my literary agent phoned to say that the publisher of my first book was sending me on an all-expense paid publicity tour from coast to coast!
At first the whole idea of a business trip seemed almost scary to me. The last time I was away from home all night I was giving birth. It's been a decade since I've gone anywhere without stuffing Goldfish crackers and an Etch-A-Sketch into my bag for the ride. I'd have to step out of my comfortable role as mother and step into the role of - what? - businessperson? Out of my Reeboks and into heels? Out of the laundry room and into television studios? Can I pull that off? I wondered. Won't they
catch on and realize I'm just a mom?
But then I pondered the benefits of the trip. I'd be flying alone, dining alone and sleeping in luxury hotels alone. For an entire week, it would be just me. No school lunches to pack. No base-ball practice. No four o'clock panic over what to make for dinner. I started to plan all the adult things I'd be able to do. I could visit each city's famous museums and stare as long as I wanted at each masterpiece without having to divert my eyes to
keep tabs on my boys. I would browse through shops instead of racing through them, shouting, "Don't touch!" to my guys. And I would "dine" instead of "eat." It was beginning to sound better and better.
Finally, after making sure the refrigerator was full and the hamper was empty, I was on my way. As the plane took off, it also took my breath away. I was, for the first time in thirteen years, on my own - if only for a week. The curious thing about the trip was this: Instead of feeling like an adult, I actually felt more like a child! I could stare out the window of the plane in awe of the billowy clouds without having to tend to someone else.
I could think uninterrupted thoughts. I didn't have to make my bed. I could drop my towel on the floor in the hotel bath and someone else would pick it up. I could order anything I wanted off the menu and not worry if I had enough money to pay the tab.
Even dessert. Twice if I wanted to.
Instead of driving my kids to school and practice and trying to stay on schedule, I had personal author escorts in every city who chauffeured me around. They were being paid to keep me on schedule. While they concentrated on the road I could take in the scenery, the flowers and the people - all things you miss when you're the pilot instead of the passenger.
But San Francisco's cable cars and Seattle's Space Needle left me missing my family. Flying over Mount St. Helen's and seeing New York's skyline on approach to JFK are sights that should be shared. The guy in the seat next to me was snoring.
During a layover in Denver, I watched an exhausted mother chase her toddlers through the terminal. She apologized as they knocked my luggage over. "It's okay," I smiled. "I'm a mom, too."
But after days without doing any mom stuff I didn't feel like one. I had morphed into this other person, but the spell was starting to wear off. I knew I'd be turning back into a pumpkin soon, and the weird thing was, I was looking forward to it.
It became clear to me that for moms, coming home is what getting away is all about. Whether it's cruising the Caribbean or cruising the aisles of the grocery store alone, I know now how important it is to get away.
When I returned home my children looked angelic. The exploding hamper was a challenge, not a chore. I looked forward to filling up the empty refrigerator. I was refreshed. I was home.
A week later, up to my ears in mom stuff, I decided to write another book.
By Kimberly Ann Porrazzo (c)
I don't get out much. Like most moms, I'm too busy doing mom stuff to take time for myself.
It wasn't always like this. Before I had kids, I had a career. Though I spent more hours nurturing my professional image in those days, it still seemed there was time left over for me. I'd make time to rejuvenate at a spa or unwind on a daylong shopping spree. Relaxing was a crucial component to the corporate image I was polishing.
Now, the only thing I polish is the furniture.
Having swapped the corner office at work in order to write from the corner bedroom at home, I now consider a trip to the grocery store without the kids to be a getaway. The business lunches I enjoyed at fancy restaurants were so long ago that the navy blue business suit I'd worn to them has gone out of style. I've cashed in the career and all the perks that come with it.
Oh, I'm not complaining. This is exactly where I want to be. So you can imagine the emotional tug-of-war I felt when my literary agent phoned to say that the publisher of my first book was sending me on an all-expense paid publicity tour from coast to coast!
At first the whole idea of a business trip seemed almost scary to me. The last time I was away from home all night I was giving birth. It's been a decade since I've gone anywhere without stuffing Goldfish crackers and an Etch-A-Sketch into my bag for the ride. I'd have to step out of my comfortable role as mother and step into the role of - what? - businessperson? Out of my Reeboks and into heels? Out of the laundry room and into television studios? Can I pull that off? I wondered. Won't they
catch on and realize I'm just a mom?
But then I pondered the benefits of the trip. I'd be flying alone, dining alone and sleeping in luxury hotels alone. For an entire week, it would be just me. No school lunches to pack. No base-ball practice. No four o'clock panic over what to make for dinner. I started to plan all the adult things I'd be able to do. I could visit each city's famous museums and stare as long as I wanted at each masterpiece without having to divert my eyes to
keep tabs on my boys. I would browse through shops instead of racing through them, shouting, "Don't touch!" to my guys. And I would "dine" instead of "eat." It was beginning to sound better and better.
Finally, after making sure the refrigerator was full and the hamper was empty, I was on my way. As the plane took off, it also took my breath away. I was, for the first time in thirteen years, on my own - if only for a week. The curious thing about the trip was this: Instead of feeling like an adult, I actually felt more like a child! I could stare out the window of the plane in awe of the billowy clouds without having to tend to someone else.
I could think uninterrupted thoughts. I didn't have to make my bed. I could drop my towel on the floor in the hotel bath and someone else would pick it up. I could order anything I wanted off the menu and not worry if I had enough money to pay the tab.
Even dessert. Twice if I wanted to.
Instead of driving my kids to school and practice and trying to stay on schedule, I had personal author escorts in every city who chauffeured me around. They were being paid to keep me on schedule. While they concentrated on the road I could take in the scenery, the flowers and the people - all things you miss when you're the pilot instead of the passenger.
But San Francisco's cable cars and Seattle's Space Needle left me missing my family. Flying over Mount St. Helen's and seeing New York's skyline on approach to JFK are sights that should be shared. The guy in the seat next to me was snoring.
During a layover in Denver, I watched an exhausted mother chase her toddlers through the terminal. She apologized as they knocked my luggage over. "It's okay," I smiled. "I'm a mom, too."
But after days without doing any mom stuff I didn't feel like one. I had morphed into this other person, but the spell was starting to wear off. I knew I'd be turning back into a pumpkin soon, and the weird thing was, I was looking forward to it.
It became clear to me that for moms, coming home is what getting away is all about. Whether it's cruising the Caribbean or cruising the aisles of the grocery store alone, I know now how important it is to get away.
When I returned home my children looked angelic. The exploding hamper was a challenge, not a chore. I looked forward to filling up the empty refrigerator. I was refreshed. I was home.
A week later, up to my ears in mom stuff, I decided to write another book.
By Kimberly Ann Porrazzo (c)