Finally. Charlie is sleeping. My proofreading project is in the mail. The guests are off visiting family. I have a few moments to myself. Sweet.
So finally, here is a post about our trip to Florida, or Why Sarasota with your in-laws is WAY better than Ixtapa when you're traveling with a toddler.
Why you may ask? Two words: gastrointestinal infection. Follow those two words with "the highest ungodly fever ever" and "no planes home until Saturday" and that pretty much sums it up.
Let me explain. As part of the deal in moving to Ottawa, HS promised that we would go somewhere warm every winter. Winters are long, cold, and snow-bound in Ottawa, and I hates me some winter. I am trying to like it, what with the new skates and the attempts to ski etc., especially since Charlie seems quite happy to roar around outside when it's -17C. Anywho, last year we went here. Looks lovely doesn't it? It is. And babycare too? That sounds like heaven! Um, yes, it SOUNDS good. But the reality? Let's just say (thanks to David Foster Wallace) that I dubbed our trip "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again." Yes, the location was fantastic: gorgeous, sunny and hot hot hot. We even met a really nice couple to drink margaritas with. And despite Charlie's lamentations, HS and I had some couple time while he was in the on-site daycare. We swam, we drank, we tanned. For three days. Sure the rooms were musty and buggy and the beds were rock-hard, but who cares when you're spending all your time outside, right? Well, you're gonna care a whole lot when your one-year-old suddenly spikes the highest fever of his young life along with a raging case of diarrhea. So there we were, stuck in a room that is one notch above a cabin at sleep-away camp with our sick, sick baby and no way to get home until the end of our week. It was hell.
We were determined to do something different this year.