The night before we flew to Miami, my daughter threw up all over her room. Her father stepped in a puddle of it and had a hard time not joining the party himself. She amazes me, though. A few hours later, she said she had to use the potty, and as I sat with her I watched her throw up into her closed mouth, hold her hand over it, wide-eyed, and then she gulped it back down with so much effort her shoulders rolled forward and then back. It was totally unecessary, excrutiating to watch, and yet still absolutely heroic in a reality television sort of way. I did have a sudden pang of guilt about whether I had made her believe that the bathroom floor was so incredibly important that such measures needed to be taken to keep it clean, but you can only do what you can do, some decisions they make for themselves.

By Friday morning, she felt so sick that she barely said goodbye as we left her and her brother with their grandparents for their first ever sleep over. It broke my heart. She had been SO excited... and now she just listlessly waved goodbye.

When our flight landed it began to rain. I realized than that the warm water snorkeling I had been dreaming of might not become reality. But we made the best of it. The Bahamas were a little chilly. Mid sixties until the sun warmed the beach. But hey, it was January - and I guess that would explain all of the sales!

Honestly, we had a grand time anyway. And when you have a blast despite most plans being changed (or cancelled like the entire day at a private beach), you know you can have a blast anywhere.

We were only gone for close to four days, and by Monday morning I was so ready to come back and see the kids that I had a nightmare that we had missed our flight. Funny, but I used to travel for weeks at a time and get depressed when I got home, and now, well, a weekend was plenty. And I did enjoy myself and kick back and I didn't stress about them. I just honestly missed them, puke and all.