Monday, September 24, 2007

dream of an exhausted mom

If I were a rich woman, I'd dramatically declare myself exhausted and check into a swanky spa. There would be massages and heated stones and reflexology. They'd have a yoga guru who teams with a chiropracter and birth defect specialist to cater to my limb weirdness and scoliosis needs to design my perfect meditative exercise routine. At the Daisy Dream Spa, they have a vegan nutritionist who is an award winning chef. Once a week a sushi ninja master comes in, though, and beats up the vegan and makes me raw fish dishes of mouth watering perfection. (The vegan chef gets to chill with Reiki and hot baths; he's fine.)

There are natural hot springs so I can soak in bliss without having jacuzzi-induced carbon footprint guilt. There are fresh fruity icy smoothies to sip whilst soaking, and a folk guitarist to serenade me. Neil Gaiman comes to read me stories so my eyes can rest, too. I get foot massages and waxed legs, but only so I'm silky enough to appreciate the 1,000 thread count cotton sheets. Only, wait, they're finely spun hemp fibers. Yeah, hemp. And they've been delicately scented with lavender.

There are nannies onsite who are raised on organic granola and are certified crunchy by the International Association of Mom-Tested Intuitive, Responsible, & Excellent Daycaregivers (IAMTIRED) who attend to my toddler's needs in a creative and patient way. TV is banned and they have magic food that looks like mashed potatoes and chips but is really fresh broccoli and spinach.

There are boob fairies who bring me the baby to nurse at night and then sprinkle fairy dust on her belly to keep her full and content as she sleeps in a comfy floating crib by my bed- in which I can roll and stretch in any way I please. The boob fairies take all my night milkies and use it to make their fairy dust so I don't have to pump or nurse.

In the morning, there are mimosas with fine champagne and fresh-squeezed orange juice and as much cantaloupe and whole wheat toast and honey butter (the fairies sneak this in for me so the vegan chef doesn't know) as I can eat. This is served on a pretty ceramic tray by Maggie Gyllenhaal, who then gives me a full body massage and whatever else I may be needing that morning.

I really only need a few days at Daisy Dream Spa, and I'll be recharged.


Testament to my need is the fact that it's taken me a week to finish this post. I did get last night off so I could [sniffle and dribble tears all over] have a romantic evening with Bu. Tearful moments notwithstanding, we had a great day. Spend most of the day together with the Little Bird, including a Quest for the Ultimate Spillproof SippyGrail. (Got it! Kmart, people. Rock on, Kmart.) Then we left her with the grandies. Picked up a bottle of Chardonnay, by Bohemian Highway. Cheap but yum. Tiniest bit sweeter than many Chardonnays. Very chuggable were one wont to chug her Chardonnay while she watched Disturbia, which was great minus one ridiculous detail. (How do you get a copy of your neighbor's blueprints while you're confined to the house?) So then I was drunkish and adult things happened. Then we watched the StarWars 'sode of Family Guy which was freakin' sweet. My week of guilty TV lust resumes tonight with Heroes and The Alyson Hannigan Show, I mean, How I Met Your Mother.

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