This has been an interesting weekend. Erin and I have possibly run out of things to talk about as we each snuggled into our respective beds this afternoon and passed out for a good, old-fashioned midday nap. She's still snoozing away as I am typing because I have realized that I have neither blogged nor written a thing this weekend, unless you count the numerous text messages to Pete as writing. I don't. It's not surprising that we're quiet and pooped, though. We walked seven miles along South Beach and back again yesterday morning and this morning. We've started our days at 5:30 am both days, to watch the sunrise and drink coffee and read our books outside...and have subsequently been in bed by nine both nights. And tonight, I am sure, will be no different.

My flight tomorrow is scheduled for 2:35 in the afternoon, but I am so painfully homesick at this point, and in dread of being snowed out of Philly due to the threat of an impending blizzard, that I am waking up at 5 am to try to fly standby on a 7:05 am flight. Most people would say this is sick. I say, that's just me. An early riser who is ready to go home.

This weekend has been very good for me. I don't know how good it's been for Pete, as I think he's stressed and "done" as his Facebook status reveals...but I have taken time to rest, relax, revel in the weather (my favorite kind) and soul search a bit. I finished my book group book (so incredibly highly recommended, Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult) and thought about where my life has been and where it is going. We've talked and laughed and caught up on our separate lives, which has made me feel so reconnected to my dear friend. And I have oohed and ahed with the awestruck vibrato of someone who sounds like she hasn't left the house since 1987 as I have absorbed through my clearly sheltered pores a lot of beautiful sunshine, amazing architecture, the front of Versace's home and more silicone than should be legal in one beach community. Dear lord, the collagen alone. This morning we walked by two photo shoots being done with real models, and you can be sure I'll be watching for that waify crazy-haired blond and her dreadlocked counterpart to be gracing magazine ads in the summer. It has been wild. Although not so wild...

As Erin has seen, and noted, I don't get out much anymore. And the little things are not lost on me. In fact, I'm rather impressed by them. We went to a swanky, tres chic hotel last night called the Shore Club, home of the world famous Nobu. We sat at the bar and had the most delicious cocktails, and then enjoyed an unconventional but very special dinner. The best edamame I've ever tasted, yellowtail sashimi sliced paper-thin with jalapeno peppers and cilantro, and a shrimp tempura with a spicy sauce. Pure heaven. As we wrapped up dinner at 8:00 pm (so late for me, so early for Miami), we considered hanging out but had no real desire to do so. So we made our way to the front of the hotel, set to cab it back to our hotel, when Erin pulled me into a boutique called Scoop.

I have never been in a boutique called Scoop. Boutiques called Scoop carry items of clothing, like ripped up jeans that are $295. And $600 Jimmy Choo shoes and $1000+ Marc Jacobs bags. And if you are a person who shops in a boutique called Scoop and buys said items at said prices, nothing that you buy this year will be wearable next year. Because it will be last year's Jimmy Choo's and Marc Jacob's from a boutique called Scoop.

I whispered to Erin, "I buy my clothes at Target."

The sweatpants were $135, for Christ's sake!!

We left. I took a breath. And wondered if the women that were in there shopping and buying were for real, and if they actually had sold their first-born to earn the right to be shopping and buying at a boutique called Scoop. Because I cannot imagine any other way that one might have the cash flow to be doing what they were doing.

So I don't get out much anymore. And I like it that way. I felt out of place, and like the proverbial tourist, missing only a neck strap for my camera and a yellow visor. But this is the way that many people my age, and younger, are living. Partying in Miami and buying Jimmy Choos. Seeing as I am here and happily doing neither of these activities, it's fairly obvious that my home is right where it should be and my life is exactly what I want it to be.

I have loved Miami. But I can't wait to get home tomorrow. I miss my kids so much, I have an ache inside of me. And being here without my wonderful, stressed out husband, who just revealed through text message #1534452645 that he has changed more poo than taken breaths since I've been gone, is just not the same. I miss him. A lot.

So I'll be at the Miami International Airport at 5:3o tomorrow morning, flying standby if I have to, to get home a few hours earlier than was intended, because while Miami is fantastic, my family blows it away. And I am recharged and ready to get back to what I was meant to do...be a wife and a mommy.