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Flying South to Grandmother’s House

March 22, 2012

March is cruel. Now that I live in Colorado, I get it. Howling winds one day, summer warmth the next, and then a surprise sprinkle of snow or rain. I grew up in temperate Los Angeles, and the end of winter in Colorado drives me crazy. To flee the weather last year, the girls and I headed south to visit the grandparents for spring break. But a freak rain storm in Los Angeles made us quickly change plans and meet up instead in the Arizona desert for our first resort vacation.
The trip was great. The grandparents watched the kids swim. The kids loved the restaurants and the patio where we played cards over lemonade and margaritas. We visited the rec room, and explored the Phoenix Zoo, which was fantastic. I didn’t cook a meal, wash clothes, pack a lunch or clean up clutter, and I had 24/7 babysitters. The grandparents paid. Clearly, I thought the whole experience was brilliant. I started scouting out resorts for our next trip.

So this year, I politely declined to attend a conference in DC for work (we’re getting close to launching our service, DoubleScoop. It’s so exciting.) and I asked the girls if they wanted to go south again with the grandparents. I showed them the resort I found. Five pools, miniature golf, several on-site restaurants, a beach, a game room. And the little rascals replied, ‘Can’t we just go to grandmother’s house? Maybe it won’t be raining.’ And so, to grandmother’s house we go. Maybe I’ll go to the resort by myself.

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