A week away!

There is something quietly thrilling about five whole days to myself. No negotiations, no mental checklists running in the background, no one needing anything from me at 11 PM. And the best part? This time, I am not leaving behind a sinking ship. With the most capable extra hands holding things together at home, hands I trust completely, because honestly, I learned everything I know from her, I can actually, truly, exhale.

But let me be clear. This is not a leisure trip. Not a girls' trip. Not even a family vacation. It is a business trip. And those, my friends, are my absolute favorite kind!

I know that sounds strange, so I should probably elaborate a bit more. 

Girls' trips? Hate the idea of that! I feel like a fish very far out of water.

Family vacations? I go in as the world's most enthusiastic planner and unravel spectacularly by day two. I am talking full spiral, obsessing over whether the kids ate enough, slept enough, are being too loud in the hotel rooms, spending money on things that will be forgotten by the next morning, running dangerously low on clean clothes, getting themselves high on every sugary junk they can get their hands on... the list has no end, and neither does my anxiety.

My husband is the opposite. He drags his feet getting to the trip, then transforms into the most relaxed, fun version of himself once we are there. Meanwhile, I have already peaked at the beginning of it, and it is all downhill from the hotel check-in. I say this with love and just a little self-awareness, I have never, not once, been a pleasant travel companion after day one of a family vacation. 

Business trips, though? Business trips are my league!

Back in my pre-kids, fully career-oriented era, I lived for the weekly onsite travel. Clean hotel rooms that are waiting for me every evening. No decisions about what to cook. Meals expensed. My whole life packed neatly into a suitcase, and I loved every single thing about that. I loved heading home on weekends just long enough to do laundry, repack with fresh clothes and a new rotation of books, and do it all over again. It was my rhythm. My happy place.

So when I stepped back into the same role, after years away, every onsite travel request I had to decline felt like a small, quiet ache.

Because it's not that I didn't want to go. I always wanted to go. But wanting something and being able to do it in good conscience are two very different things. The reality is simple and non-negotiable. One person simply cannot manage three young kids, their packed schedules, a full-time job, a dog, and a household. It is not a criticism. It is just common sense. So the rare travel I did manage in recent times was bare minimum. Show up, be present just enough, and get home as fast as possible.

Then this one landed in my lap.

A full week of onsite. Not the high-stakes, pressure-cooker kind, but the kind where expert eyes are just needed to review what's already in place. Lower stress, clear purpose, and a defined end date.

And the timing? Nothing short of perfect. For the first time in a long time, I have not one but two extra pairs of capable, reliable, wonderful hands at home. People who don't just help out but genuinely hold things together. Some days, even better than I could. 

So for the first time in years, I said yes. Without guilt. Without hesitation. And with more anticipation than I have felt in a very long time.

It is still a week away. But I am all pumped up. The books are already shortlisted. The food plan is in motion too, because yes, I am absolutely the kind of person who plans meals in advance for a business trip, and I refuse to apologize for it. We are talking proper sit-down meals, eaten at a pace that allows me to actually taste the food, without one eye on the clock and the other on a child who has suddenly decided they don't like anything on the menu.

My Bluetooth speaker is already charged and waiting. The playlist? Sorted, sequenced, and ready to fill whatever room I am in with exactly the kind of music I want to hear, at exactly the volume I choose, without a single negotiation.

And then there are the quieter luxuries. The ones that are so simple they are almost embarrassing to admit out loud.

A bed. Entirely mine. Starfished across the whole thing if I want. No one stealing the blanket, no small feet mysteriously appearing in my ribs at 3 AM.

A shower, a long, uninterrupted, gloriously peaceful shower, without my name being called through the door ten times before I've even reached for the shampoo.

And the TV remote. No negotiations, no compromises. Just me, the remote, and complete, sovereign control of the screen.

People talk about self-care like it is spa days and scented candles. But sometimes, self-care looks like a hotel room at the end of a workday, a book you've been meaning to finish for months, a playlist that's entirely yours, and the radical luxury of a shower in complete silence.

A week away. But who's counting, right?!