Tuesday, July 22, 2014

I Potty'd like a Rock Star!

Well, as we all know from this blog's readership, I am NOT special.  I think the number of readers has gone from 3 to 12 depending on the topic, but let's be honest, no one really cares.  I'm not some fashionista journalist who used to work for Vogue advising on the latest trends that ought to make your closet this Fall, and I'm ok with that.  I like my mediocre life.  I'm not special, I'll barely make a blip on the radar screen of human existence, but I have you fine ladies to call my own, and that sort of makes my life rock a little bit.

Speaking of rockin...and rollin, you know that I did the Rock 'n Roll half in Chicago this weekend.  It was such a great weekend, made better by the fact that it was also my birthday.

Perhaps some of you know the story of my 40th birthday.  It was just last year, about 6 weeks after Fiona was born.  I wanted to go to see Bon Jovi because, let's face it, I was the target audience for that tour.  I'm a middle aged white girl who grew up "Livin on a Prayer", and now the only Bon Jovi songs I hear are the Rockabye Baby renditions.   When I heard that tickets were going on sale, I thought for sure all my girlies would want to go.  Gravity is having its way with our bodies, and it's been years since anyone has asked, "lay your hands on me".  Right?

"Who's with me?" I asked.  "It's now or never!"  Turns out none of my friends wanted to go to the concert. (In fairness, K would have gone, but she was out of state at the time) Out of pity, my husband offered a half-hearted, "I'll be there for you," and suggested that perhaps he and I could get tickets.  Realistically, that wouldn't work given that I had an infant on the breast every 2-3 hours.  While I wanted to "Never Say Goodbye", it quickly became clear, that my youth was behind me.  I was as old, fat, gray, and boring as I felt at six weeks postpartum.

I didn't go to Bon Jovi, but we did go raspberry picking at a farm.  My family graciously joined us at a restaurant to celebrate the big 4-0.  It was my siblings, my kids, my nieces and nephews, my parents, and my aunt, and we had a great dinner thanks to my husband, who tried to plan something fun even though I was a crazed hormonal lunatic who cried every hour and screeched in pain from the torture my nipples suffered each time the little babe latched on.  When we got in the car, I cried all the way home.

Now is a good time to fast forward to #41.  My friend Jen and I joined my cousins in Chicago, and we stayed at a fantastic hotel with the most lovely outdoor pool.

Radisson Blu is the way to go if you are visiting Chicago in the summer.  How is this for a gorgeous evening city view?

We had a blast, and for the whole weekend, I was a VIP.  Seriously.  I paid $195 for it, but it was worth every penny.  Friday night we got to see the Billy Joel concert from a roof top bar at Wrigley field, and we enjoyed complimentary (VIP) drinks and food.  Then, on race day, we had FLUSHABLE toilets with NO line in the VIP tent area.  We had coffee and breakfast before the race, and we returned to receive a massage, a full breakfast, and complimentary drinks post race.  Hello mimosa.  Yes, I'll have another.  It's not even 10:00 am, ok my third drink will be straight up prosecco then. There was even a charging station for cell phones AND they handed out ice cream sandwiches.

I know it was gluttonous and unnecessary, but it made me feel really good to celebrate myself and all that has happened for me this year.  Everyone deserves to feel as special as I did this weekend, and every woman should be able to come home and have her husband say, "I'm so glad you had fun!  That's awesome."  Every mommy (and daddy) should have a few days away from her kids because they can be little skootches, and we all need a release.  When my daughters saw me yesterday, the smiles on their faces could have lit up a midnight sky.  I missed them terribly and wanted nothing more than to hold and snuggle them forever.

I'm back in the comfort of my home with the piles of laundry that need washing and the dishes piling up in the sink because our dishwasher is broken.  I'm not a very important person, but for a single weekend, I felt like I was, and before I returned to the normalcy of my working middle class life, I sure as hell went down in a "Blaze of Glory!"

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