Every year, I approach spring break with a mixture of guilt and dread.

The pangs of guilt come from knowing I’m not taking my kids on some fabulous trip to a ski or beach resort, as are many parents of kids in their classes. More guilt piles up because I tend to work, or at least attempt to, during spring break. As a freelancer I rarely take vacation; it’s hard to say no to clients. Another barrier to traveling during spring break is the absence of my husband, who coaches high school baseball and heads to South Carolina during the break for some mega baseball tournament. That leaves at home me, my son and my daughter, whose ideas of a perfect vacation are worlds apart.

Watching Orioles spring training sounds like heaven to my son, hell to my daughter. Sitting on the beach and collecting sea shells is my daughter’s idea of the perfect day; a complete bore to my son. What they have in common? Teasing and tormenting one another.

So, stuck in Baltimore, I wish for—at the very least—spring-like weather, even though it’s not yet officially spring. Today, the wind is gusting up to 50 miles an hour, making it feel below freezing. Great. My son doesn’t even want to go outside and shoot hoops it’s so cold. So he takes out his energy on his sister. They nudge each other and bicker and chase and kick. I try yelling. Tuning out seems to work better. But I can’t ignore them completely. More guilt.