Just what the doctor ordered
My house is immaculate. I kid you not.
The only way it could get cleaner is if the windows were washed and someone straightened up all the cans in the cupboard “While You Were Sleeping” style.
Thanks to two weeks worth of planning and some help from my fabulous husband and my amazing friend Kate, it’s the cleanest it’s been in…
And it will stay like that… because we’re not there to mess it up.
Our friends’ parents are flying in from overseas for three weeks at Christmas and we’ve offered for them to stay in our place. What fun it is to know that while we are off enjoying holidays, someone else is enjoying their own holidays thanks—albeit in small part—to us). I like that.
Speaking of holidays, I was at the doctor the other day for some silly pains and minor ailments (oh, and my sore throat/golf balls) and she asked me how I was doing. I mean, how I was doing. I thought right then and there she was going to break out into a therapy session. She just had that tone combined with the slight I-feel-your-pain-why-don’t-you-tell-me-how-you-feel look on her face.
I told her I was pretty much fine—which is completely true—and she proceeded to tell me that I am underweight (hello, breastfeeding?), and that I am exhausted looking and basically just seem run-down.
Yes, my dear sweet doctor said that I looked like a train wreck. Except that she didn’t actually use those words. She sounded much more doctor-like and… professional. But I know that’s what she was thinking.
Thanks. A lot.
I wanted to tell her that maybe it’s just that I had not had a chance to put on any make-up yet that day. Or that it’s been really humid and I’ve had a string of more-than-bad hair days. Or that it was Levi’s fault for sucking all of the fat right out through my boobs.
Surely I didn’t look as bad as she said I did.
But I knew she was right. I haven’t felt or looked very energetic or fresh lately. Blech.
From there dear Doctor Wise One wrote me a prescription for a long holiday, when—to her delight—I told her I was already in the process of packing my bags and heading out with my two favourite boys two days later.
Just what the doctor ordered. (Thank you Australia for paying our doctors to give us good advice – I’d like to be sent on holidays a little more often even. Maybe you should give them a pay rise?)
In all seriousness though, my doctor then told me to come back to check in with her in the new year, and that she expects me to be looking fabulous and well-rested. She included in her prescription that I’m not allowed to “help people” or try to get work done while away.
This is what I heard: sleep in every day until 10:00am, gorge myself on American food (ok, Mexican food), and spend my days transferring between the hot tub and the couch catching up on The Office, Modern Family, and every single Christmas movie I can get my hands on. And then read those twelve books that are all half finished. Oh, and I’m not allowed to do any dishes. Or laundry. Or anything that involves a spray bottle.
Well maybe my holiday won’t look much like that. But I guarantee you it will include several burritos, It’s a Wonderful Life, and even perhaps a few daytime naps.
And I should probably get some peanut M&M’s. Because, you know, my doctor said so.
Holidays, here we come. In fact, holidays, here we are. You are most welcome in my life.
Dear friends, when is the last time you planned on having a true break? Or when is the next time?
on my way to stock up the reserves a little,