My children and the rest of the world.

Before I start, let me tell you that my kids are perfect : they’re beautiful, smart kids : the spitting image of their mother. But they’re kids. As in, not adults. As in, unpredictable. As in, my daughter telling me at the Chinese restaurant that she feels nauseous, asking me to hold her, and puking inside my T-shirt and on my hair. As in my son still having tantrums at 6 years old, screaming on the street, throwing himself on the ground for no reason (well, no adult reason, anyway).
A few years ago, before I had my first child, my husband and I considered going away on vacation in one of those adults-only resorts. As in, please don’t even consider taking children with you. It looked like paradise : cocktails on the beach without children running around and throwing sand at you, swims in the coral blue sea without monsters screaming and climbing on each other’s shoulders, romantic dinners without having to watch kids eating fries with their mouths open and sticking them in their nose. We decided against it, thinking that it was a little weird to forbid children in a hotel – also, it was really expensive. Now that I have two children of my own, I still think it’s a little weird, I still think no one should be forbidden anywhere, because then, where do you stop ? If you’re a child, you can’t get in. Did we not do that with black people? You know, in public places, transportation, rings a bell ?
However, and this is where I can honestly say I’m a bad mother, I think I’d quite like a child-free resort. You know, just for a couple of days. If I go away on vacation with my husband and manage not to have my children with me, then it’s a miracle and it should be treated as such. So when it actually happens again (last time we went away was, hold on, wow, that was 4 years ago!!) I might choose the no-kids resort. I will totally send them a letter telling them I’m shocked, though. Totally.

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