I had plans. The plans fell apart. I am standing here telling you that the fallback — the stay-home, no-itinerary, make-it-up-as-you-go spring break — was better than the plans.
I know. I didn't believe it either until I was living it.
Day one of the stay-home spring break: we slept until 9 AM. This is unheard of in my house. I am a 5 AM person by habit and necessity. 9 AM felt like sleeping until noon. We had coffee — me — and she had whatever the heavily sugared iced thing she makes in the blender is. We sat in the kitchen and did not talk about anything important for forty-five minutes.
It sounds like nothing. It was everything.
Day two: we cooked. Not a meal — we cooked all day. I taught her how to make pernil. We didn't rush it. We started the marinade in the morning and roasted it slow and the whole apartment smelled like my grandmother's house and she stood at the stove stirring something and asked me questions about my family that she had never asked before because usually there is not enough time or quiet to ask them.
Day three: she reorganized her room. I didn't ask her to. She just decided. I stayed out of it entirely. She made decisions about her own space, her own things. At the end of the day she came and got me and showed me and it looked nothing like I would have organized it and it was perfect — it looked like her.
Day four: movies. All day. My picks, her picks, alternating. Zero educational value. Complete joy.
The spring break we didn't plan taught me something: rest together is its own kind of closeness. Unscheduled time is not wasted time — it is where the real conversations happen, because nobody is rushing anywhere.
Give yourself a stay-home spring break on purpose once in a while. No agenda. No productivity. Just presence.
Buckle up, buttercup. Sometimes the best thing is the one you almost talked yourself out of.