Mothers deserve a vacation.
In fact, an annual getaway should be mandatory for all moms, much like a holy pilgrimage. Instead of Mecca, this holy place should be a tropical island with private bungalows and 24-hour room service. A sacred place to retreat, rejuvenate and read lots of Nora Roberts novels poolside. Like Fantasy Island, mothers arrive on chartered float planes and are greeted with flowers and frosty drinks served in pineapples with tiny umbrellas. Heavy luggage is unnecessary because this destination forbids baggy or child-stained clothing. Each sacred guest – each mom – receives a complimentary wardrobe of comfortable, hip and flattering sarong dresses paired with woven sandals.
Each day requires devotion to the purifying rituals of massage therapy, hydrating facials and swimming with dolphins. Television is forbidden.
Mothers don’t think about cooking or cleaning because the island is staffed entirely by happy Oompa Loompas. These guys do not ask you to find their shoes, make them snacks or tell their brothers to stop making mean faces. They do not cry, whine or tattle. These small people demand nothing from you. You are a sacred guest.
During this holy vacation, there is no need to think, plan, prep or pack. No chores, tasks, hassles or headaches. Even a trip to the beach is effortless. When exiting your bungalow, you need only saunter toward the beach before a smiling Oompa Loompa greets you with a beach bag stocked with the essentials: a towel, sunglasses, lotion, magazines and an iPod with soothing music. A flick of your wrist summons an Oompa Loompa to refill your frosty concoction, fetch a fresh towel or adjust the angle of your beach umbrella. Oompa Loompas do not throw sand at you. They don’t holler, “I’m thirsty!” nor do they fight with each other. They are respectfully quiet and disappear when not needed.
Your room service menu reveals scrumptious delicacies delivered to you on beautiful dishes and in silence – there is no need to wipe chins, refill sippy cups or hear the word, “Ew!!!” Your Oompa Loompa wheels away your dirty dishes effortlessly.
In the evening, you stretch out for an uninterrupted night’s sleep, lulled by the sound of the ocean … but then your thoughts start drifting … far, far away. An unsettled feeling begins to creep in … a longing. You miss the sweet sound of your child’s voice. You yearn for the comforting weight of your child’s hug upon you. The thought of plastic toys strewn across your living room cause you to chuckle out loud. You miss your husband.
That is when you know … it is time to go home.