Best I Can Tell, Home Is Where the Home Is . . . I Think . . . But, Don’t Know for Sure

Well, it’s summer again; has been for about two weeks.

Now ask yourself, what are your favorite things about this time of year? If you were to make a list, I bet it would look something like this:

  • Warm weather,

  • Extended period of light,

  • Fresh vegetables,

  • Cookouts on the back deck,

  • Camping trips, and

  • The all-important week long vacation to the beach.

When the kids were small, we made this sojourn to the beach every year starting in the mid-90s, ending several years ago when our kids were beginning to have kids of their own. We invited our parents, which was a pleasant addition to our group. It was a great time with three generations spending a week together. As fun as it was, when you dissected the family vacation, it took on a mind of its own.

What you are essentially doing is packing a van load of your stuff along with your family and  friends so each one of your children can pal around with someone of the same gender.

You drive for about six hours to your ocean accommodations. When your kids are young that six hours translates to twelve to allow for the “Are we there yet” . . . “I need to go to the bathroom”. . . “I’m hungry” . . . “Mama, Sara’s looking at me”.  

The summer vacation basically amounts to driving two-hundred-fifty miles to transform a strange home into a home like your home; so, you can watch television at a home that is not your home, but a reasonable facsimile of your home, until you return home.

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