It's Colder in Kohler

When I was pregnant with Mary, my department threw me a beautiful baby shower. Along with presents, cake, and sparkling lemonade, there were toasts which featured words of wisdom. Most of them went something like this, "enjoy every minute ... it all goes too fast."

My VP at the time said something very different though. While he echoed the sentiment that (his three teenage) kids are special, the most important person in his life is his wife. In 18 years, your kids will leave you, he said, but your spouse stays. You have to honor that partnership first.

Given my infatuation with my baby, I thought it was odd at the time.   

***

A month or so later, Peter and I were staring at our new born baby with awe, trying out the labels of Daddy and Mommy, and starting down a road of cherishing every second with our little peanut.

We apparently liked the experience so much that we welcomed two more kids into our house in a relatively short period of time. For the past five years, I've either been pregnant or nursing, fearing that it will all go too fast, soaking up every moment, and most recently slowly realizing what my VP was talking about.

That is, before we were Mommy and Daddy, Peter and I were just man and wife. And with all we have going on, it's hard to get back to being just us.

So this Christmas, Peter and I decided to give each other the gift of a getaway. And on the 27th, away we went ... two and a half hours north, to Kohler, Wisconsin, where we checked into the American Club as carolers sang in the library and ravenous onlookers scavenged the cheese table while slurping down hot chocolate. 

We spent the majority of our time in Kohler soaking up the historic hotel and sheltering ourselves from the frosty temperatures. We had some great dinners among cheese heads who knew their cheese curds, we got to work out without pushing a jogging stroller, we bowled on ice, used our Kohler clad bathroom to its full potential, and tried to take a tour of the Kohler Design Center which promptly closed as we walked through the doors. All of Friday morning was dedicated to the posh, award winning spa; a destination where I realized just how Mommy had become.  

Susie B. with the look and voice of an elementary school librarian, checked us in and reviewed our billing. I immediately got sticker shock. Seriously? I hadn't spent that much on myself in I don't know how long. Ok. Fine. Signed. 

We went downstairs to get robed like the rest of the guests and then waited in a tranquil room eating raw almonds until our massages began. At 8:00 AM on the nose, a suite of technicians came out and found their respective massage buddies. I had Jerry. Jerry was likely a cheese head, but rang Pittsburgh through and through. I could totally see this guy swinging a Terrible Towel at a Steelers game while guzzling an IC Light. I was just waiting for him to say, 'yinz wanna roll over?' 

He told me to relax though, so I stopped over analyzing him and the fact that I had somehow ended up with a male masseuse. I listened as he told me, 'with deep breaths in and out, in and out, I could return to this place at any time, in any place.' Right. Do you know my current lifestyle?  

Jerry revealed that he specialized in reflexology at the end of the massage. He told me that certain parts of the feet are directly connected to certain parts of the body. Like if you rub right in the middle of your foot, you can stimulate the digestive system. I was caught in the middle of hoping the foot rub would rapidly digest all the Christmas cookies I'd been eating and fearing that his technique would spontaneously prompt a Christmas cookie fart.  

After my massage was over, I was supposed to go through a variety of aqua therapies. I sat in the whirlpool, plunged into cold water, took a neutral temped shower, and then officially turned into a prune in the rooftop hot tub. 

Next stop on my itinerary was a facial. Ingrid, an absolutely beautiful woman with the softest hands known to womankind, led me into my treatment room. I let her in on my secrets early; it was like pulling off a Bandaid. I had never had a facial. I had picked a pimple to oblivion and back in the past week; it was slowly healing. I wash my face with Neutrogena soap and apply Ponds cold cream in the morning. I have no ritual. I could feel the icy judgment through my cucumber covered eyes.  

An hour later, my skin was revitalized by a laundry list of products that I was supposed to purchase in the spa's general store at the end of my visit. (I did nothing of the sort). I was also supposed to schedule monthly facials. At these prices, never. And I was at the VERY LEAST (she warned in almost a scolding tone) supposed to exfoliate twice a week. Okay. I just might do that.

I left the place, walked down the sub zero degree street to our hotel room, feeling almost guilty for purchasing the lap of luxury. But back in our room, the two of us told stories about our experiences and agreed it was something we needed. Even if it had to be coached out of us, we both needed to unwind and bond over something uniquely designed for parents with a lot on their shoulders. 

On the way home, we stopped at Kohler's market where Peter stocked up on all things Nueski and several high profile Wisconsin cheeses. It was still distant from the French markets where we shopped on our honeymoon. But despite the cold, it got us closer.

It's 2018 somehow. And I made a resolution. To do a lot more of what Peter and I did last week. Because just as JC said, we're in this together till the end.

Lo.