It could be a fit of madness. It could be the best decision we’ve ever made. My hubby, T., is taking three months off when the wee ones arrive, and we are going to end it with a bang. We’re going on a holiday.
We’ve booked a week at the beach. Yes, the beach. In Canada. For those who haven’t been here, one of the biggest surprises of the Great Lakes region is that there are lots of beautiful beaches around. And not wimpy, rocky beaches either. We’re talking sun, sand, and tiny little waves that have enough power to be playful without the fear that you might break your neck. (Aussies will understand.) Other bonuses: No sea lice or salt-water itch, no sharks, and no rip tides.
My favourite beaches so far are probably Sand Banks Provincial Park, where T. and I went on our first camping trip, and Christian Island, where good friends of ours got married. Both have spectacular sand dunes, but the sentimental favourite, and destination for our first family holiday, is Port Elgin, a wee town on the shores of Lake Huron.
Why am I so excited? Apart from the sunshine, sand, and potential for a bit of Aussie-style summer? In possibly the cutest baby-plan so far, we are continuing a long, long family tradition. T. was just weeks old when he went on his first family holiday, to Port Elgin, and the town has formed a solid, unchanging part of his childhood and adult life. The place is dotted with his stories – the roads he and his childhood friends pedaled on borrowed bicycles as kids, the house they turned into a rock venue as teenagers, the snow-drenched beach he stood on one New Year’s Eve before he met me, all interspersed with ice creams and house parties and long, lazy days on the sand.
It’s also where we spent our mini-honeymoon, and have enjoyed family holidays of our own with the lads. And now, we’re renting a cottage big enough to fit us all: T. and me, the grown sons and the fresh Pretzels. The littlies will be three months old by then, and we’re planning to do absolutely nothing while we’re up there. Can. Not. Wait.