Clang clang clang went the trolley. Ding ding ding went the bell. For the record, I like to sing the Ethel Merman version, not the Judy Garland one. I pretty much prefer singing anything in my Ethel Merman voice as my husband can attest. But more importantly, singing this song can mean only one thing in my house: I’m San Francisco bound.
I hope that you have a place like San Francisco in your life. Not the actual city per se, although I can think of few cities that would be better qualified to serve such a purpose. I’m talking about a place where you go for no other reason than to enjoy it. I’ve been to the City by the Bay several times and each time was for pure pleasure. In my years of business travel, I (luckily) never had to travel to SF for work. That might have tarnished its reputation in my mind as my place of refuge, but probably not completely. I love this place and I find it hard not to. I love those hills, the charming buildings, the trolley (clang clang!), the good food and wine, the water views, the California vibe – I could go on and on. This time, I’ve scheduled a trip to meet up there with two of my favorite people in the whole wide world. That’s all sorts of goodness wrapped into one package.
It’s been a bumpy start to our kindergarten year with two rounds of the stomach bug (within a week – same bug?), an almost bitten through tongue from a playground fall and a respiratory virus that now seems so many viruses ago that it doesn’t even count. Oh, and the dog had diarrhea, too. So although I don’t relish the thought of my husband having to deal with any potential newly-surfacing germs over the weekend, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the timing of a little getaway seems nice given the recent upped responsibilities in the care-taking realm.
It’s one thing to talk about the need for self-care, but an entirely different thing to walk the talk. So I’m a-walkin’ myself right onto a plane for a few days of well-needed girly time. I plan on sleeping in (although my internal clock will likely wake me around 7), drinking a glass of wine (and not three or four because I don’t recover so well anymore), and perhaps just sitting and staring into space without having anyone need me to do anything right then and there. Sounds nice, doesn’t it? Speaking from experience, I can tell you that although an actual trip out of Dodge really promotes this kind of escape from one’s day-to-day duties, I have also taken such trips to a nearby town, alone in my own house and even in my closet (don’t ask, but new parents probably get this).
So dear parents, caregivers and folks who need a getaway, I will raise my glass to all of us and I will drink in the couple days of r&r like a camel preparing for a drought. And I’ll try to take a few of my amateurish photos to share when I come back, or to at least keep for myself to revisit on the days when I’ll need a mental holiday.
I’m off to pack (and make 45 lists of instructions on all of the little details that my husband will need to know to keep the ship sailing while I’m gone). He’ll be more than fine (he always is), The Bug will be more than fine (she always is), and Miss Sally will sit by the door a lot and wonder why I’m taking so long at the grocery store (she always does). We’ll all be better for the break – we’ll miss one another, appreciate one another a little more, and I’ll get to wear those two outfits in the back of my closet that don’t look at all like yoga pants with a fleece hoodie. I’m excited just thinking about it.
Clang clang clang, here I come…