Anyone who knows me knows a woman who devoutly quotes the scriptures, who reads to her children continually, and who discusses politics, literature, and philosophy with a great deal of thought. They know the lady who dresses modestly, answers anger with quietude, who strives for patience and understanding in order to help create a better world and who values hard work and sacrifice. Generally speaking, that is the woman my babies know as well. But sometimes my children spend an evening out of the house and then...
Tonight they were barely out the door when Mommy had donned her alter ego and was standing in the bathroom, pulsating with purpose and readying her so called ammunition. Within a few moments I had transformed into an absolute spoiled brat, emanating self love and offering myself gentleness and peace, covered face to ankle in Dead Sea mud, plans zooming through my head of gourmet food that absolutely needed creating in my kitchen. After scrubbing off the dried mud came Dead Sea salt scrub, and as if that proved insufficient, I added a final skin conditioning of my own particular blend. (Amazing how glorious the simple and inexpensive combination of baby oil and cocoa butter can feel.)
Yoga and meditative dance came next, followed by a quick trip to the grocery, then back to my beautiful stove top and the fresh herbs from the garden. Homemade pesto in my system declared a need for balance and a hundred squats seemed a good start. When you are immersed in the idea of rejuvenation and self love you don't even feel the burn, truly. Speckled throughout all this activity I threw in a quick bout of furniture polishing and bathroom disinfecting - after all, a goddess needs to live in beautiful surroundings with the refreshing smell of clean around her, right? It was exhilarating to feel the comfort of cleanliness without, once again, feeling any strain or annoyance, but born entirely from the idea that spoiled lil Princess Michelle deserved a clean house, of course. When my little ones return, they may find me curled up on the couch poring over National Geographic, both for my own intellectual progression and theirs. All evidence of a disgruntled, overworked mommy will have vanished without a trace and they will find me my typical calm, focused, patient self, looking much as though I have spent the evening slaving over the house and dinner. I think my son wonders how I do it sometimes - he says I am a remarkably patient person. They don't know the other half of Mommy's secret life.
Because, you know, sometimes you have to take care of yourself, too.