I am counting down the days and minutes until I board my flight like a woman possessed. It's not that I don't love Hampton Roads, but it's time to go home. I made it through Thanksgiving without some of my Great-Grandma's world famous dressing (the woman is 90 and could teach Martha Stewart a thing or two), a hug from my adorable godson Quinn or spending quality time with my parents cracking jokes and catching up.

Now that we're in December...all bets are off. Like the child who wakes their parents up at 5:55 a.m. on Christmas Day (I was that kid, sorry Mom and Dad...do you see a pattern developing here?), I just can't contain my excitement anymore.

I think the feeling is mutual. My Dad has already started planning the trip to pick me up from the airport. (He makes the military look inefficient.) Mom, meanwhile, has asked me for a list of the meals she'll be cooking when I'm home. Last week, when I was talking to Quinn and he was giving me some hints from his Christmas list.

I do feel very lucky, because unlike the men and women in the armed services, I can go home for the holidays.

So, if for the next few weeks, if I seem a little overly excited, sorry...I promise I'll be acting like a normal human being after my trip to the Golden State.