We – Kyle, Emilia, Jasper and I – have never taken a vacation together. Not unless you count traveling to visit family during the holidays, which I do not, because no thinking human considers dragging small children across the country to sleep in Grandma’s basement – however wonderful and soul-enriching such visits with family might be – a vacation. Once, before Jasper was born, Kyle and Emilia and I went camping with the in-laws, which was an inch or two closer to something resembling a vacation, but that was three years ago, and, also: camping.
(Kyle and I used to go camping for fun, once upon a time. We would actually take canoe trips to remote beaches and set up a tent and pretend that we were the last people on Earth and it was really, really romantic. But we have kids now, and I don’t need a remote beach to feel like I’m the last person on Earth, scrambling to survive. I just need to spend an hour indoors with the kids shrieking and hurling Cheerios and the Apocalypse is right there.)
So today we’re going to Blue Mountain Resort, which has swimming pools and gondolas and a climbing wall and STARBUCKS, and we are going to hole up there for four days and we are either going to have the awesomest time ever, or the children are going to defeat us utterly and it will be like Lord of the Flies, except with room service, in which case, it’s been really nice knowing you guys.