Sunday, April 27, 2008. 6:02 a.m.

I am awakened suddenly.

This is nothing new for me as most mornings begin with my almost-two-year-old gently nudging me to read him a book (usually by dropping the hardest board book he can find on my head), or telling me that he'd like to a drink of water (by knocking our family's shared water cup off the window sill and onto our bed) or what I've come to savor most, that he'd like to nurse, which means that for at least five more minutes I can lay there in stillness and quiet before the day begins.

But today is different. I am alone. Just twenty minutes from my house, I am practically in my own backyard, and yet worlds away from my life.

I am on retreat. The first I have been on since my mothering journey began nearly four years ago.

The magic that is this perfect moment, began several months ago when I signed up for a writing workshop, Writing from the Heart with Nancy Aronie, as a birthday gift to myself. A six hour workshop, plus a little extra "alone time" driving there and back felt simply decedent.

Then a few days before the workshop my (wonderful, thoughtful) husband suggested that I might like to extend my workshop into a mini-retreat by staying overnight in a nearby hotel.

So here I am. Sprawled out in a king-size bed. All by myself.

And it feels WONDERFUL!

I got a few funny looks last night by the pool when the small talk turned to where we are from and what we are doing here. I explained that I lived 20 minutes away but was here, alone, celebrating my birthday.

"Do you have some friends with you?" a nice older gentleman asked me. "Or is your husband coming to meet you later?"

I smiled and assured him that I was very happy to be here, alone, celebrating my birthday.

"Oh, I get it" he said, winking, still seeming a bit perplexed but hopeful that I had something exciting planned for the night.

"Well, whatever you do, enjoy yourself!" he added as he and his travel companion gathered up their things and made plans for their night out.

I lingered at the pool a bit longer, alternating between lounging in the hot tub and lying in a chair re-reading Gift from the Sea by Anne Morrow Lindbergh.

In the book, Lindbergh, a mother and writer like myself, reflects on her life and her dreams while spending time, alone, in a cottage by the sea.

And that's just what I'm here to do. To put life on pause for 24 hours and be still.

Well, that and to sleep -- when I want, where I want, for as long as I want.

And to move only when I want to in ways that feel wonderful.

Like this morning when I intended to begin my day with salutations to the sun but ended up doing more like half of a half sun salutation (and even that was a bit of a challenge for muscles that have been neglected for far too long).

And then I got back into bed, supported by a half-dozen pillows, with my laptop propped on a nice little wooden lap desk I found when I arrived.

And here I have been for the last two hours. Writing a little. Daydreaming a little. Relaxing a lot.

And anticipating the delicious (complementary) breakfast buffet awaiting me downstairs. And even more so, anticipating the arrival of my husband and children in a couple of hours for a morning of swimming and playing in the pool!

It felt so good to pause my life just for 24 hours, to remove myself from the dailiness of householding and childminding, to create and explore in the workshop, and to lounge and be still alone by the pool.

And, most importantly, to eagerly anticipate reuniting with my family; refreshed, renewed, and ready to resume the dailiness of householding and childminding, the very things that give meaning and purpose to my life.