Hey, guess what!  I’m still in Florida!

I’m not supposed to still be in Florida, of course.  I’m supposed to have been home since Sunday and by now I should have dug my way out from under my work e-mail and become a productive member of society once more.  But there was this little snowstorm…maybe you’ve heard something about it?  They got a few inches here or there?  Anyway, this snowstorm laughed heartily in the face of our travel plans and spit us back out into Florida not once, but twice.  At this point we are supposed to be headed north on Wednesday evening, but much of that depends on LaGuardia airport figuring out where it keeps its plows.

I know I’m supposed to be thrilled about this extra vacation time.  At least that’s the impression I get from the Maine contingent.  Every time I hear from someone up there I’m all, “I kind of miss my bed” and they reply “Snow!” “But my work is piling up,” I say. “SNOW!” they yell.  “But I’ve been sleeping in the same room as my kids for two weeks now,” I counter, sure this will garner sympathy.  And they simply bellow, “SNNOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!” and throw the phone. So I know I’m supposed to view this as a great boon, but man.  All this family time is wearing.  Plus, we’ve totally become the Houseguests That Won’t Leave and nobody likes that.

It’s not that it’s been a bad vacation.  The first part of it was excellent.  Good food, good people, good fun.  We had cafe con leches and fried fish sandwiches.  We went to the beach and played in the sand.  We went on a holiday lights tour on a bicycle built for three.

I mean, come on.  Look at us! That’s some fun right there!

But then it all kind of fell apart.  First Annabel got sick on Christmas Eve and crawled her way through Christmas with a fever of 102.  Then the sickness meant that no one in the family slept for more than an hour at a time for two or three nights in a row.  Then the flight was canceled, so we imposed ourselves upon my brother- and sister-in-law for an extra three days.  Then I got sick.  Then every outing we attempted was met with a meltdown from one or both children.  Then the baby got sick.  And here we are, spreading germs, misery, and drama wherever we land.

The first morning we were in Florida I looked down while putting on my sandals and noticed I had forgotten to paint my toenails.  I usually do forget this minor detail when we come down, since it’s not really important to me during wintertime in Maine.  At the time, I remember thinking that this little thing was an excellent example of why, exactly, I am not a Florida girl.  A Florida girl does not forget to paint her toenails.  Of this I am sure.  I don’t even think about mine.  I like it Florida, but I don’t really belong.

It appears that Florida agrees.  Florida is spitting me out like an unripe grapefruit.

And at this point, I’m okay with that.

It’s time to go home.  I’m ready for some SNOOOWWWWW.

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