We were heading somewhere posh ("can I get away with leggings?") for our first night away in over two years and taking the opportunity to celebrate two things; the hubby's birthday (the big 3-2) and our fifth wedding anniversary, which is coming up in a couple of weeks. We haven't actually celebrated any anniversaries yet, probably because for the past four years I have either been pregnant, breastfeeding or just a bit fucking grumpy (and Valentine's Day lost any shred of romantic appeal in 2012 when Boy One claimed it as his birthday).
The best bits about spending a night away
- Pretending we were teenagers listening to Snoop Dogg in the car because we could. Because all of a sudden there was no restriction on hearing about bitches in the living room gettin it on (and they ain't leavin til six in the mornin) - though there is no doubt we looked like major twats rollin' down the street in our ten year old Vauxhall Astra which struggles to accelerate unless in third gear and has a backseat strewn with breadsticks, sick-encrusted Duplo and an Aquadoodle. Incidentally, I found that without even thinking I had packed some baby wipes and a Fruit Shoot. Just in case.
- The peace. So bloody obvious but we definitely had 'a moment' of drinking in the silence and realising that for the best part of a day there would be no crying. We were at our hotel for twenty hours and nobody cried.
- Having a relaxing bath. We have no bath at home, not that I'm at all bitter that we bought a house with a bathroom too small to fit even the smallest bath in, not at all...anyway, the bath at our hotel was the Bees Knees. And nobody stopped me mid leg-shave to tell me they needed 'a mixture' (a mixture of a wee and a poo, just to be clear, yes this happens at home).
- Straightening my hair and putting actual make-up on in front of a mirror.
- Eating dinner in peace. A posh one at that. We're very much a pesto pasta family. Occasionally we mix it up with some sausages/potato wedges/beans. And meals out, if we're being honest, are at that establishment lit up with the giant letter that comes before N (where you get a shitty minion toy to further bribe the child whose questionable behaviour has already been rewarded with chicken nuggets). But not this time. This time we enjoyed fine dining. We had not just a waiter but also a WINE WAITER. Bloody hell, it was a cut above my usual G&T in a tin.
- Eleven hours sleep (I'm SO sorry to people in the midst of night feed hell right now but I've paid my dues and your time will come too. There is hope. My baby is nearly 11 months and I am full of hope at the moment). We went to sleep at 9.30pm. 9.30pm! That is what parenthood (and a bottle of Prosecco) does to you.
"Let's get back," we agreed, as we fired up some 50 Cent for the return journey (Now I'ma let the champagne bottle pop, I'ma take it to the top, for sho I'ma make it hot, baby (baby)...shall we stop at Tesco for nappies?)
And we were genuinely happy to get back.
Back to the familiar chaos of the living-room, littered with Happyland people and other unidentifiable plastic crap.
Back to the crying, the bath-less bathroom, the frozen pizza and G&Ts in tins.
Back to our boys, who, it has to be said, we were thinking about all of the time (except the eleven hours we were sleeping, obviously).
Maybe absence really does make the heart grow fonder, or at the very least slightly more tolerant. Tolerance we just might need for our next planned trip away...three nights in a caravan, with both the kids...
The Unmumsy Mum
We stayed at the glorious Boringdon Hall on the outskirts of Plymouth
|The long-suffering Mr Unmumsy, 32 tomorrow|