It’s been a long, dreary winter in Chicago. When I boarded my flight this morning at O’Hare it was gray and raining. When I got off the plane in Orange County, Calif., it was sunny and nearly 70. We checked in, changed into our swimsuits and headed straight to lunch poolside. The locals, of course, thought it was too chilly to be out there, but when you start your day in Chicago in February, nearly 70 and sunny is plenty warm enough. I nearly forgot my guilt over leaving behind a sick family. Why is it that whenever I’m traveling without them, at least one of them and sometimes all of them–two kids and one husband– get sick before I leave?