I am going home.

Tomorrow, my daughter and I will fly south to Miami, to visit family and build sand castles on Miami Beach.

I always day dream about palm trees, big puffy clouds and the calming sound of surf for days before we leave. From all these miles away, I can taste the thick, sweet Cuban coffee and the Colombian arepas I love so much. Going home makes me happy.

I’d actually been excited for spring break. To have both kids home with me all day for a full week sounded wonderful. We would do activities. We would visit venues of fun. We would bask in the sunshine that I was willing forth with powers of great will and weather manipulation. Life would be a dream and a song. I would even stop barfing in honor of the festivities.

It didn’t quite work out that way.

On Monday we went to the park with some friends where we had fun in the sun, even applied sunscreen whether we needed it or not. Then I twisted my ankle and spent two days lying flat on my back. By Tuesday or Wednesday I was knocked out with an awful head and chest cold that lingers even now. And I was still throwing up.

There's a popular old TV skit that goes "I'm crushing your head, I'm crushing your head.''

The guy, known as Head Crusher, puts two fingers up to his eyes and envisions the object's head between fingers and CRUSH.

Is it wrong to admit I thought of the skit often this week?

It was Spring Break. Spring Break is not for the weak and poorly planned. In other words, not for me.

Every Sunday on the way home from church we ask the kids what they learned in their classes. Usually Magoo says, "Nothing" or "Birds and animals" or "God gave me a belly button." Laylee tends to retain the deeper doctrine and a few weeks ago she shared with us the story of the widow's mite from the New Testament.

Phillip and I have started talking about vacation. As in, we are tired of using vacation days for births of new babies and would really like to, you know, GO ON VACATION. Since we have two children still in diapers, no trust fund, and a family member who requires a bottle of vodka and prescription medication to sit still in an airplane (that would be me) we're thinking about a grand American tradition: the road trip.