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 🙂