The Stuff Dreams are Made of

I'm in Chicago.  Which is cool, because I've never been to Chicago...only, I'm not really IN Chicago...I'm near Chicago.

I'm visiting mailshops in the Chicago area.  And, if you know anything about mailshops - but really why would you unless you work in the industry - they are not in fancy places.  They do not take up space in the penthouse with an amazing view.  They reside in the bowels of a city.  Usually in a warehouse, lost in a sea of warehouses.

So I have not seen the sites of Chicago...instead I've been driving around the industrial gut of Chicago...places like Burr Ridge and McCook and Palos Hills.

But still, it's a nice change of pace to get out of the office and I was treated to an amazing dinner and I got to stay in a hotel by myself!

Do you know what that means?  If you are a mommy of young children, then staying in a hotel by yourself is the stuff dreams are made of...it doesn't matter where it is.

I got a bed to myself.

I got to take the longest, hottest shower.

I got to watch whatever I wanted.

I got to go to the bathroom by myself.

I got to read.

I got to blog and visit blogs without feeling any guilt.

But...

I didn't get to rock Freddie to sleep.

I didn't hear "I love you Mommy" from Ainsley this morning.

I didn't get to cuddle.

I didn't get to watch Dora or Tom and Jerry or Phineas and Ferb with an excited little girl.

A hotel is a very quiet place...and though a little break is nice, I miss the noise.