This is the view we woke up to this morning. We’ve been up in Ontario’s cottage country at a lovely resort for two nights after Peter found a Groupon deal that we just couldn’t pass up. (Maybe those deal sites are worth it after all. We came up to this resort two years ago after I went back to work following my mat leave with Addy and we spent a small fortune. The deal Peter found is more than 50 percent off! Yay for husbands who scour the Internet on their BlackBerries while they’re on the toilet!)
Anyway, things have been busy and extra stressful for the past several months so we jumped at the opportunity to take off for a bit of rest and relaxation. (Though, as we speak, I am working. Granted, I’m sitting with my laptop in the lounge by a wall of sunny windows facing the snow-covered trees and the pretty lake. It looks like a painting and is a much more spectacular view than our messy bedroom, so I’m certainly not complaining.) It’s been a really short escape — we’re heading home this aft and, while I feel nice and calm hanging out at an empty resort (it’s us, a group who work for Miele meeting in the conference rooms and a whack of Ontario Provincial Police officers meeting; I feel very safe here), I can’t shake that annoying pang of guilt. I should be at home with the kids. I should be cleaning that messy bedroom. I should be working the usual nine- or 10-hour (or more) days. I should be saving money (even though we got an awesome discount and this “trip” is for both of our birthdays, we could be putting the cash toward other things). I clearly have a case of the “shoulds.”
I’m slowly starting to realize that what I should be doing is enjoying the peace and quiet of cottage country. (I’m kind of hoping someone brings me a hot toddy.) I should be chilling out with Peter (who’s in the spa right now while I work, FYI) and enjoying the time alone we so rarely get. I should be guilt-free; it’s not like we’re ever away from the kids. I should also attempt to decompress, turn my laptop off (hard for someone who’s growing a busy freelance business) and grab a nap, or sip a hot toddy while I stare out this window. Or both. Either way, I’ll be back in the regular routine later, so I should just quit over-thinking and enjoy the getaway. Which I’ll do as soon as I finish this post.
How often do you get away sans kids? When was the last time you had a case of the shoulds?
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