In two days I will be leaving it all behind.  Jumping in the car for an arduous 14 hour sprint on the expressway.  I am going to visit my grandparents over Spring Break in a nursing home.  In Florida.  On the Beach.

Normally going to the white, powdered sugar beaches of Northwest Florida for a few days would have me ecstatic; however, my overwhelming feeling as I prepare for this adventure is guilt.

I am leaving behind my wife and three boys under the age of 5.  It’s supposed to be in the low 40s, raining, and I’m sure like most Chicago springs a lot grayer than we hope for.

I won’t have to wake up at 2:30am to feed the baby.  I won’t have to deal with saying no to watching Thomas and Friends for the thirteenth time that day.

Instead I will get to eat out with other adults.  Watch what I want to on TV or heaven forbid even finish an actual book.

My wife says that I need to go and that everything at home will be fine.  I believe her when she says that, but at the same time I just can’t get past that one word…. Guilt.

Maybe sleeping for 8 hours straight will help with that 🙂



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