There’s just under five hours before I can check in to my hotel suite where I plan to spend three days and two nights recuperating from the month-long solo parenting stint. This is the best incentive to keep making money blogging, since “mini-vacations” like this would be well beyond our means otherwise.

But I need a break. I really do.

Oh, I’ve got plenty of work I’ll be doing while I’m sitting there in my nice, anonymously decorated suite sipping on a chilled bottle of La Crema Chardonnay (a nice way to prime the liver for evening martinis). I’ll be taking my laptop for blogging and a couple of books I’m reading for research; one of the novels I’ve been wanting to work on is going in my suitcase, too, just in case inspiration strikes.

Still, the #1 item on my list of things to accomplish this weekend is simply catching up on time to myself. Time to linger in the morning over a complimentary newspaper with coffee and breakfast delivered by room service. Time to enjoy a nice bowl of soup and a magazine at the hotel’s restaurant for lunch. Time to maybe watch a couple of movies on PPV in my room without a 2 hour movie taking 5 hours thanks to repeated interruptions while I separate the cats, make a snack for my child and beg him to please, please, please play upstairs while Mommy watches her movie to find out whodunnit.

One would think, given my dearth of social plans, I’d only be packing a pair of pajamas. One would be wrong, though.

VH just glanced at the small suitcase I left open on top of our bed. I’ve been tucking various items in it since yesterday. In addition to my pedicure set (because I’ll have time) and spare blanket (because hotel bedding is so nasty, even in a luxury suite), I packed a nice casual dress along with my Naughty Monkey shoes — platform sandals that add a good 3 inches to my height.

“What are these for?” he asked.

“Um… my feet? Duh.”

He started rifling through the rest of my bag. The Berne Mev shoes didn’t make him bat an eye: I have to wear my funky “vegetarian” Scoop polka-dot tennis shoes religiously now that I’ve learned padding around barefoot leads to aching feet the next morning.

“You’re only going for two nights,” he reminded me.

Men just don’t understand how many outfits a woman can go through in that time! Sure, I’ll pretty much live in the PJ pants and t-shirt — with my rubber tennis shoes — while I’m in my room. But the dress and platform sandals are essential for tonight’s complimentary Happy Hour. And, frankly, I think packing rather lightly by pairing those platforms with jeans and a blouse for tomorrow night’s Happy Hour, rather than carting along yet another pair of shoes.

Then there’s Saturday brunch — it’s going to take an entirely different outfit. I’m thinking khakis and a simple blouse — and, of course, I fully intend to have a four-course sit-down meal in the restaurant Saturday night since such leisurely dining is ordinarily out of the question in my life. When bedtime rolls around, I simply can’t sleep in the same PJ pants and t-shirt I hung out in earlier, so I’ll need two pairs: one for each night. I do, after all, enjoy being clean.

Goodness, that’s just seven outfits. That’s not so much for three days and two nights, I tell him. Lord knows our son goes through that much clothing in the same amount of time: I know, because I spend most of my days washing it.

Besides, it’s not like I’m packing my rain boots… though with a 15% chance of thunderstorms, maybe I should. You know, just in case I decide I need to step outside and want to look good while doing it.