“The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to sharpen.”

— Eden Phillpotts

When I was a kid, I remember one very special day I always looked forward to. It was my mother’s birthday. She was born on February 2nd. Just another ordinary day to many, but to my mom, it was an event like no other. She would write excuses for my sister and me so we could stay home from school and help her celebrate.

My Mom never really made any specific plans for the day. It was all spur of the moment. On some birthdays, we’d go to the movies to see the latest hit, sitting in a half-empty theater on a weekday with loads of buttered popcorn and candy in our laps. On others, we’d drive to the most massive shopping mall in my home state almost an hour from our house and treat ourselves to a new toy or trinket to mark the occasion.

My Mom adored shopping the most. (She still does!) I’d be willing to bet that she could outshop the best of them, especially in the clothing stores. And even if her budget was small some years, it never stopped us from our annual fun. We would still try on the most expensive coats and elegant dresses and imagine ourselves at a gala movie premiere while gazing in the fitting room mirror.

Each birthday usually ended with a culinary feast—lunch or dinner out at a hometown diner or never-before-tried restaurant where we’d order our favorite dishes and complement it with a decadent dessert. Not just a piece of cake or pie, mind you. We’re talking mega ice cream sundaes or banana splits with the works—an avalanche of hot fudge and butterscotch toppings, heaps of chocolate sprinkles, real whipped cream, and extra cherries on top!

One thing I do remember. We never worried about how much money we spent, how many calories we ate, how many chores we delayed, or how much homework we had to finish. On this day, time stood still so my mom and those she rallied in for the cause could indulge in a blissful celebration detached from every rule.

The reason I reminisced about all this is because I just listened to one of the On Demand workshops by popular life coach Cheryl Richardson on the topic of The Art of Extreme Self-Care. And during my drive home after the web class, I was trying to think of how I could devote a blog post  to something we all yearn for—a chance to indulge in leisure activities and carefree pleasures without guilt. Then it occurred to me. My Mom had already mastered this skill and luckily I inherited a tad of it myself.

I’m all grown up now. And as a recovering perfectionist, I often commit a few infractions of my own when it comes to self-care. But I assure you that every year on February 2, whether I’m shackled with deadlines or scared straight by my to-do list, I take the day off and call Mom. And each time, the world survives without me. Go figure!

Something I Didn’t Know…:

Cheryl Richardson’s life coach turned her life around when he introduced her to the concept of Extreme Self-Care. “I remember feeling excited about the idea, but a little nervous. It meant taking my care to a whole new level—a level that, to me, seemed arrogant and selfish. Now I welcome the opportunity, and here’s why: the Practice of Extreme Self-Care focuses us to make choices and decisions that honor and reflect the true nature of our soul.”

Best Line I Read Last Night:

“I loved being a writer. It’s the paperwork I can’t stand.”

—    Peter De Vries, editor, novelist, satirist