A Hotel Room of One's Own

As much as I love my family, I love the the luxury of staying in a hotel room. I savor the chance whenever it comes my way.

I feel like I should preface this with telling you how much I love my husband and kids but am going to skip straight over that and tell you how much I love staying in a hotel without them.  This little lick of luxury does not happen very often but when it does, I savor every minute.

What’s so great?

There are no distractions, none.  I cannot empty the dishwasher, listen to someone’s problem or wonder why there is no OJ left when I remembered putting it in the cart…thirsty teens, left it at the checkout?  I can’t throw in a load of laundry or worry if the dog was limping like that last week.  I can just think…just me, my thoughts, it is like a spa for the soul.

I love waking up in a strange room.  I love a strange bed, different linens and an unfamiliar view out the window.  I moved constantly throughout my life until my kids were in middle school. Since then life has been geographically stable, so I love this taste of earlier days and the novelty that goes along with it.

I love the spotless bathrooms and exploring new toiletries…I know they come with the cost of the room, but it always feels like small personal gifts to me even when I know I can buy the same things at CVS. If they are good, I swipe them.

A bathroom to myself.  I shared bathrooms with brothers, roommates and then a husband, and while I am not complaining, a bathroom to myself, even for a single night or two, is certainly one of life’s little luxuries.

I love watching TV in bed.  In our home we only have one TV, in a valiant effort to control my children’s watching habits and to encourage all of us to read in bed (yes, I know this was pre-internet.)  TV in bed feels like a guilty pleasure.

Room service, need I say more.  Not sure why I can’t get this at home?

Almost every morning for eighteen years I have awakened one or more of my kids and my husband for school, jobs, sports…whatever.  I love setting my alarm and then walking into my sons’ room and softly calling their names to begin our day. But in my hotel room I have only myself to worry about and for a night, that sounds just about right.

From Grown and Flown: Parenting from the Empty Nest 

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