“Mommy, I can’t find my green socks,” came my daughter Molly’s voice from the other side of the door.
“Have you looked for them?” I asked.
“………..No.”
“Go and look for them please.”
“But my socks are wet, and I need new ones and I want my green ones. I need them for my feet,” she whined.
“Check in your sock drawer,” I replied, an edge creeping into my voice.
“But I want you to help me find them!” she insisted.
“Molly, I am in the TUB, okay? Do you think it makes sense for me to get out and drip water all over the house looking for your socks?”
“………You could put a towel on,” she replied.
I sighed. I thought I would have time; Andy, my toddler, was napping, and Molly was supposed to be in the yard with my husband Jeremy. She must have splashed in a puddle, wandered inside, and become hyper-focused on finding her green socks. I had three options:
- Ignore Molly and enjoy my bath. This was dangerous, since it meant Molly would look for the socks herself, possibly leading to an insane scenario (what if she wandered onto the roof thinking her socks were in the chimney?)
- Abandon my bath. Peace was never an option; Molly wouldn’t relent until she found her green socks.
- Smuggle myself onto an airplane and escape to Jamaica.
Of course, I chose Option 2, thus ending my latest attempt at self-care. I dutifully put a towel on, and Molly’s socks were found stuffed behind the toaster (at least they weren’t IN the toaster). By the time her super important socks were found, Andy was awake, and I was grumpy.
I’d love to take better care of myself. I’d love to lie on the couch and read a book, without Andy gently placing Lego pieces in my ear. I’d love to watch TV, without Molly’s little voice whispering “this is boring. Can I watch Sesame Street?” I’d love to eat a cookie without two mouth-breathers eyeing me like a pack of crows. Yesterday, I tried shaving my legs, and Molly burst into the bathroom like a sheriff with a warrant. I’m lucky I didn’t slice my foot off!
My last shot at pampering myself was equally unsuccessful. In a fit of creativity, I decided to give myself a pedicure. Think of the money I would save! I was being so thrifty! Mistake number one: I sat on the hard bathroom floor, contorting myself like a magician’s assistant. Mistake number two: the lighting was dim, and I had to squint a lot. Much later, my tailbone was sore, my thigh muscles were screaming, and my toenails looked like the dog had painted them. It was a complete waste of time.
It’s wonderful that taking care of oneself is becoming more mainstream. Emotional, mental, and physical health are equally important and necessary. Even the term “self-care” is new; my mother never used that term when I was a kid, but the words “escape”, “let me out”, and “for the love of God, can I use the bathroom in peace?” were heard often.
So, I learned my lesson and booked a mani/pedi at a salon. The kids were at home with Jeremy, and I had the whole night to myself. I ate the greasiest, most delicious burger I could find, then went to the salon and relaxed. As the nail technician rubbed my feet, I realized I would happily pay to spoil myself. While the massage chair kneaded my back, I forgot all about diaper changes and missing socks; I would deal with those tomorrow. For now, I was enjoying myself and wishing I had a pina colada. With the salon’s heat blazing, with the smell of coconut lotion in the air, it was almost as if I’d escaped to Jamaica!
