A room of my own

Photo courtesy Cinders in the Dark on Vimeo.

Photo courtesy Cinders in the Dark on Vimeo.

Last week I finally got the answer to the age-old mystery pondered by mothers everywhere: My son has been potty-trained for three years, when do I finally get to use the bathroom by myself?

The answer: When you go on a trip without him.

Last week I tagged along with my friend Cheryl Crabtree, a travel writer (and mom of two boys) who was updating the Central Coast section for Fodor’s Travel Guides. I was ostensibly working on a few travel stories for the Beacon, but mostly I was enjoying having someone else cook my meals (in restaurants with cloth napkins and no kids menus), make my bed (with 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets) and drive me around (OK, so Cheryl’s Camry is only slightly more glamorous than my Tercel, but at least she was behind the wheel). Most of all, I was luxuriating in my personal bathroom space.

Guilty thoughts flitted by as I lay soaking in a lavender-scented spa tub at the Ventana Inn & Spa in Big Sur, which is surely one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

I took a sip of my wine and a bite of a perfect strawberry, and watched the stars twinkle over the Pacific Ocean and thought: Here I am, starring in one of the most romantic scenes of my entire life, and my husband is hundreds of miles away, probably eating a Big Mac.

I should feel guilty he’s not here to enjoy this. No really, I should. Guilty. Wracked with it. Hmm.

But what were the odds of my husband being able to relax and enjoy an $800 hotel room?

Even though it was free, I knew he’d be stressing out about Koss breaking something. And if our son weren’t with us, we’d both be stressing out about whether he was okay without us.

All in all I’m much better equipped to enjoy this luxurious bathtub all by myself, I rationalized. He doesn’t even like massages, the rubber-boned freak. This would be wasted on him. Really, I’m doing him a favor.

Oh! Does that strawberry have chocolate on it!

After my bath I tried out the Jacuzzi on my own private patio. Again, it was heaven. Once upon another life, I had a Jacuzzi in my backyard, but it was hard to keep the leaves out, and with the ambient lights of the city, I could never see stars like the ones in Big Sur.

I spotted the Big Dipper, and thought about how excited Koss would be to see it. Santa brought him a telescope, but it’s hard to see stars from our backyard when it’s raining all the time.

Cheryl and I worked hard the next day, and I was exhausted when we finally arrived at the brand new Carlton Hotel, in downtown Atascadero of all places. When you walk in the door you feel like you’re in a first class Boston hotel, or maybe Washington, D.C. Very posiphisticated.

I couldn’t wait to take a bath.

At home, not a week goes by when I don’t come home from work, kick off my shoes and fantasize about a long, hot bath.

We barely have a shower in our teeny tiny rental house, and besides, I can’t even get through the first chorus of “Walking on Sunshine” without Koss having something incredibly important to tell me about his Pokemon cards.

The Carlton has another incredible, oversized spa tub. Between that and the chocolate strawberries, I was in heaven.

“This is the life,” Cheryl and I sigh, as we clink wine glasses and relax, uninterrupted by our real lives.

If I could just freeze time for that first hour of the day when I get home from work, I thought, not for the first time. Just to have an hour a day all to myself, preferably in a spa tub with my masseuse, Juan, no Brad. That would be perfect.

It’s not that I don’t love my son … and I really love that he still wants to be with me all of the time. But who knew when we finally potty-trained him that wouldn’t be the end of it. We’ve been working on privacy training ever since.

My third spa tub — at the Avila Village Inn in Avila Beach — was also heavenly, but the novelty was starting to wear thin. It was awfully quiet in my hotel room, and it sounded like I missed a really fun “attack of the Leprechauns” on Koss’s kindergarten classroom.

It’s hard for me to believe that for all the times I’d craved this peace and quiet and solitude, it only took a few days for me to crave the chaos of home and family. I laughed at what a wimp I’d turned into!

Then I thought about what a kick Koss would get out of the fireplace that goes on with just a flick of a switch and how much fun he would have ordering room service. I call him one more time, just to say goodnight.

I vow to remember his sweet little voice on the phone, the next time he bursts into my shower, seemingly just to annoy me.

I can hardly wait.

Originally published in South Coast Beacon on March 24, 2005.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.