WINTER BREAK: EVERYONE'S FINE (PROBABLY)

Wasn't winter break magical? The togetherness, the traditions, the memories we'll cherish forever. So restorative. So cozy. So completely worth the constant health surveillance, amateur diagnostics, and middle-of-the-night cough monitoring that came with it.

Already can't wait to do it again!

Winter break used to feel like a reward — a soft landing after a long year. A stretch of time that shimmered in the distance, full of possibility and coordinated outfits. Now it feels more like a high-stakes endurance test, where the goal is to get everyone through the holidays without anyone developing a cough that "came out of nowhere."

Let's be real: God would not have scheduled flu season during winter break if this were meant to be restful.

I mean, every trip begins with a wellness inspection. Before we even leave the house, I'm scanning foreheads, listening for throat clears, asking questions no one answers honestly. Are you tired-tired, or sick-tired? You sound like a malfunctioning air vent. When was the last time you swallowed and noticed it?

I pack sweaters, chargers, and festive pajamas. Then I pack medicine — enough of it to stock a small pharmacy. Nothing says holiday cheer like enough NyQuil to sedate a reindeer.

There's a very small window when everything works. Everyone is healthy. Travel cooperates. No one announces that their stomach feels "a little weird." During this brief golden period, you take photos, drink wine, and think, We did it. This is the year.

Then someone sneezes.

Winter break turns everyone into an amateur diagnostician. A single throat clear sends me spiraling. Is it dryness? Post-nasal drip? The beginning of something that will derail the entire holiday?

Meanwhile, I downplay my own symptoms like a pioneer woman. Oh this? Just the heat. Or the altitude. Or excitement.

Even the most beautiful places come with urgent care facilities. You can be surrounded by snow-covered trees or sitting in front of a roaring fire and still find yourself mentally mapping the nearest pharmacy that might be open on Christmas Day. Honestly, I don't know a single mother who can't admire a view while quietly planning contingencies.

Someone is always "powering through." This phrase is meant to be reassuring, but it never is. Powering through what, exactly? A cold? A flu? A mystery illness that only emerges once everyone is together and the stores are closed?

At night, I fall into a stupor, but I sleep lightly, my ears perking up at any cough from the other room, like a dog who's heard something it doesn't like. I wake up not to relax, but to assess. You can't fully let go when one sore throat could turn a holiday into a strategic quarantine with nicer decorations.

And yet, we do it every year. We travel. We gather. We convince ourselves this will be the year everyone stays healthy and unbothered. We believe it with the same confidence we reserve for white Christmases and smooth travel days.

And sometimes — miraculously — it works. Everyone stays well. You laugh. You exhale. You think, See? We worried for nothing.

Until someone clears their throat on the way home.