Poppy Mom

My lovely anniversary

Did you miss me?

I've been amiss in my duties to you, Intrepid Readers. I spent Monday semi-comatose, which seems to happen anytime I get a massage these days. Today, I spent most of the day in one of those "Holy shit, I am so unfit to parent that I will totally understand if Clara "Deserves Better" Jane smothers me in my sleep with a pillow when she's old enough to realize she got a crappy deal, getting stuck with me" funks.

Parenting is fun. Now, if you'll excuse me for a sec, I'm going to shove some rusty nails under the weird-looking toenail on my right foot.

Anyway, despite my current mood (Post-partum depression and anxiety? It's been almost seven fucking months! Get over it already!), I had a lovely weekend.

My darling spouse, knowing that I've been hanging on by a thread lately, made reservations for us to spend Saturday night at delightful Loganberry Inn in Fulton, Missouri. It's a quaint little Victorian bed and breakfast in a quaint little Victorian neighborhood near Westminster College. We met my parents in nearby Columbia, sent our child packing with them, and retreated to our Victorian wonderland.

I do enjoy the bed and breakfast experience. So much so that I wouldn't mind owning one someday. As long as my guests don't mind stinky hound dogs. And the screaming. Because I'm sure, even if I were to open a b&b 20 years from now, I'll probably still be having PPD episodes and will have the occasional breakdown in front of my guests.

Anyway, the b&b experience. We were met by one of the owners, a lovely woman named Cathy, who gave us a tour. It seems Loganberry Inn has had some rather impressive guests, including Polish president/revolutionary/electrician Lech Walesa, and Britain's own Mags Thatcher.

Now, there is one thing I don't like about the b&b experience. So often, these places push their "romantic get-away" agenda. Which is fine with me. I'm all about the occasional romantic get-away. Now, we're all adults here. We know that "romantic get-away" = "naked nookie". So, while being greeted by the hostess, all I can think is, "Oh my God. She knows that I'm going to have sex on her fine linens in one of her British antique beds." And if I ever become an innkeeper, it'll be all I can do to keep from chanting, "You're gonna get some! You're gonna get some!" to my "romantic get-away" guests. Hm. Guess I should probably rethink that little dream of mine.

Now, Loganberry Inn is very classy and discreet. And romantic. Very quaint and romantic and lovely. However, I am a bit curious about the Chocoholics Strip Chocolate board games for sale in the parlor. Did Maggie or Lech perhaps buy this naughty little game? And what might chocolate body paint to do fine linens? I was too embarrassed to shill out the $25 for the game and find out first-hand.

For dinner B. and I headed to Summit Lake Winery, where we sat on the patio overlooking highway 54 while we dined on cheese fondue, spinach salad with hot bacon dressing, a sausage, cheese and fruit assortment, and chocolate fondue. And wine, of course. It's a winery, after all.

Upon returning to Loganberry Inn, I got naked for the first person of the night - my massage therapist. This was another of B.'s wonderful little treats. He went to the parlor to read, leaving me in the room with Terry, a wonderfully Earth Motheresque massage therapist who kneaded my ass muscles, beat on my back, cleansed my aura, and told me that I'm beautiful. Compliments while I'm naked = ginormous tip. I wanted to bring her home with me, she was so good.

I got naked for someone else later that night, but you probably figured as much.

Sunday morning, we dined on a lovely (it really was a lovely weekend) breakfast, brought to our room. Then we took repose on the front porch with our coffee until the 11:00 kick-out. We took the backroads to Columbia, where I relived a bit of my youth, visitinig some of my favorite places. Lunch at Shakespeare's Pizza. sigh. Oh, how I miss Shakespeare's. I was able to buy a onesie with the Shakespeare's logo for Clara Jane. I thought that was more appropriate than a University of Missouri onesie, since I spent far more time drinking beer at Shakespeare's than I ever spent going to class. We had coffee at Lakota. sigh. Oh, how I miss Lakota. I spent almost as much time there, drinking espresso, as I did drinking beer at Shakespeare's.

Eventually we met with my parents and retrieved our child. Came home. And here we are.

The weekend? Lovely.

Posted by Robin at September 7, 2004 11:03 PM | TrackBack