When you can't walk the walk or talk the talk...

My life lately is much like a day of fun in the snow. It's good. It's really good. Until suddenly you realize your toes are numb, your cheeks are stinging and you can't feel your fingers. In an instant it's not fun anymore. And you're left to deal with frozen limbs and soggy clothes and you almost forget what a good time you had.

You have Child A lethargic and puking with Child B waiting in the wings. Diagnosis: strep throat. Pause and wait a few weeks. Cue puking Round II for Child A and throw in a side of vomiting blood. Diagnosis: torn esophagus.Wait a few days. And repeat. Wait a few more. And repeat. And repeat again. Enter freaky rash. Diagnosis: unknown.

Meanwhile Child B, not to be outdone, decides to stop breathing at night. Bring on sleepless nights of observation from the shag rug at the foot of a creaky set of bunk beds. Exhausted mommy welcomes diagnosis: massive kissing tonsils. Tonsillectomy here we come. Must cancel life and all prior obligations and commit to two weeks at home for recovery.

Girl's Retreat at lavish cabin in the woods is planned to escape from life. Night before said weekend, a sprained ankle and ugly case of laryngitis threaten to delay the trip. Ignore pain and head towards a weekend of freedom, a little bit crippled and a whole lot mute. Relaxing weekend turns into work weekend, chalk full of itineraries and schedules. Return with more on "to do" list then before.

Exhale.

Thaw.

Remember that at the end of a long day in the snow, hot cocoa fixes everything.

Replace hot cocoa with a week long vacation to Hawaii.

And commence countdown. 31 sleeps to go.

(I would jump for joy and shout it from the rooftops if I could walk. Or talk.)