In her absence, we, her loyal staff, decided to run one of our favorite Fifi Articles from a few years ago. Her daughters were in their late teens and early 20s and still living at home. Since Mother's Day is just around the corner, we thought this one would bring big smiles.
I was having a bit of a heated conversation with one of my teenage daughters a couple of weeks ago (imagine that!), and just as I was making my point, she patted me on the arm and said, “Chill, Mom, you need to chill out”.
A few days ago, my “assister”, Del, (she’s my assistant, but also my sister... get it?) heard me on the phone giving up the last piece of my mind to someone I do business with. She hurried in after I slammed down the phone, held my hands and said “Breathe, honey... breathe”.
So maybe I don’t deal with stress well. I have a lot on my mind. It’s not like I am the only one or something. I have seen zillions of talk shows where they discuss how women can learn to deal with stress through yoga, aromatherapy, mountain climbing, knitting, and a myriad of other ways.
As I was standing in line at the market the other night, I was thumbing through one of those magazines that have the world “Women” in the title. An article caught my eye that claimed you could alleviate a week’s worth of stress in less than an hour by turning your bathroom into a spa. It sounded dreamy, so I threw the magazine down on the conveyer thingy with the rest of my groceries, being careful to toss it face down so no one would know what I was buying. I sure as hell wouldn’t want anyone to think I was going to be making the “spring bouquet” from egg cartons and pipe cleaners that they had on the cover. I may be a hot mess in the stress department, but I have some pride.
When I got home, I called my sweet daughters down to haul in the groceries (I love kids) while I hurriedly made my way to the bathroom and threw off my clothes. I gave a sigh as I opened my article and anxiously began the first paragraph.
Run a tepid bath, it advised. Tepid? What is tepid? I’ve heard the word before but I have gotten through a lot of years with cold, warm and hot being the only temperatures in my repertoire. No wonder this world is so stressed out. You need a dictionary to take a bath. I filled the tub with warm water and continued to read: Add 3 to 4 dozen fresh rose petals to the drawn water, it went on. Damn! How am I going to get fresh roses from the yard when I am already naked? And then I remembered the little vase of silk flowers that grace the back of the commode. These will do, I said to myself, as I sprayed the fake roses with perfume and threw them into my spa bath. They then suggested soft music to accompany the experience. Ah ha! I have a radio right here in the bathroom. I turned it on but nothing happened. Funny, it was working this morning when my daughters were taking their showers. At second glance, I realized that the cavity that holds the batteries was exposed and the AA batteries were gone. I was not happy, but I was not about to break my Zen-ny momentum by trying to find out who stole the batteries. It won't be any of my daughters who live here, I can assure you. They will all be innocent. So, it must be those same gypsies who come through and eat all the cookies and take all the pens and pencils. Mystery solved. As I slid into my bath, I was not about to be undone because of the radio. I decided that I would just sing my stress away. The article insisted on music, so I will just make my own.
The next step, according to the magazine, was to pull the plug in the tub and let very warm water “gush luxuriously” into the bath. The only trouble is that I live in an old house so you can’t take a shower or run the bathtub when someone is using the washing machine. Someone obviously was doing just that so the water was just dripping annoyingly on my toes.
Defeat is not in my vocabulary, so I closed my eyes, sunk into the warmth of the perfumed water, and sang the only song I know all the words to. For a moment I was delivered from the chaos of the real world. I became deliciously lost in my own private sanctuary. Heaven!
It wasn’t until I noticed a draft on my shoulder that I opened my eyes and saw that my two youngest daughters (18 and 19) were watching me in horror as I sat in a tub of fake roses, singing “Puff the Magic Dragon” with all I had in me.
Before I could say a word in my own defense, the girls were gone. As I arose from my bath feeling stupid, and cold, (I think I figured out what tepid is), I was bound and determined that I would emerge from this experience with a new sense of well-being despite a few setbacks.
I got dressed and decided to get in touch with my artistic side. I gathered up a few things from around the house, poured myself a glass of wine and retreated to a back bedroom and allowed my creativity to emote. You know, it’s amazing how attractive egg carton flowers can look if you know what you’re doing.
An afternoon devoted to my body and spirit was really good for me. Not even my girls were going to ruin my personal renaissance. I was never going to mention or explain what they had witnessed. This day belonged to ME. I honestly felt the stress of my crazy world float away. I felt renewed and completely marvelous.
It wasn't until I heard my daughters on the computer in the next room and the gales of giggles that followed that I realized that my stress free day was officially over. Crap! I forgot about Facebook...
