Vacation planning, and an epic battle

Well, I know you've all been waiting with bated breath to find out what we'll be doing for our summer vacation.

Last night it occurred to Dennis and me that, perhaps, we were being a little foolish in our approach to our travels.  Why should we go out of our way (for, truly, Croatia is complicated and expensive to get to) to sit on a sandy beach.  We're living in Europe: why weren't we just embracing the European experience of the rocky shore.

And so, after three days of frustrating web browsing, we returned to a plan that we'd started batting around around months ago, during our winter ski trip. We're going back to a Kinderhotel, this time to one in Croatia called the Hotel Vespera. And I'm unreasonably excited about it: we trust the brand, the kids had such a great time at the other hotel, and this one is equally rich in activities: playgrounds, shows, treasure hunts, archery, and on, and on, and, of course, so much swimming.  Along with the pools, it's 50 meters from the (rocky, but, therefore, sparkling blue) ocean and is surrounded by pine forests.  And all of the meals are included, in a kid-friendly restaurant.  I can't wait! I can't wait! But I have to, until July 31st.

We still have to figure our route coming and going there: we'll drive, and I think we'll stop in Lugano and Venice. Maybe Milan or Verona. Or maybe Trieste, for just at least one afternoon of sand. There are still too many options, but this part of the planning, I'm happily anticipating. But not tonight. After  triumphantly paying our reservation fee on our hotel, we decided to give ourselves a little break.

(Which is why, incidentally, I've finally managed to catch up on my blog posts.  Didja miss me?)

The rest of the day was just fine. Joey and I had a peaceful morning with friends, and Ella and Alex came home from school happy.

This evening was a little unusual, though.  Ella and Alex went outside to play while Dennis and I did chores. After a little while I heard some familiar screeches and stuck my head out the window, and saw Alex grinning and blocking the heavy stream of a water gun with a ping-pong paddle while Ella, perched on her balcony, was joyfully lobbing balls at a small crowd of boys below, to the shouts of encouragement from nochElla.

"Hey! What's going on here!?"

NochElla's brother, Paul, emerged from the knot of children and explained, gleefully, "We're having a battle!  We're throwing water! And water balloons! And balls! And stones...." and here he drifted off as he noticed an older boy shaking his head vigorously.  Cheese it! The mom!

So I put on my best schoolmarm voice and told Paul, and the herd at large, that there would be no more throwing of rocks.  I wasn't sure if I should extract my kids from the battle royale all together, though: they seemed to be having so much fun.

Meanwhile, Joey had just realized what he'd been missing and had run to get his shoes and scooter.  He was most frustrated with me for not tossing him over the side of the balcony, into the mass of crazed children.  I did, however, take him down the stairs with me, using him and his scooter as an excuse to keep a closer eye on what my small hooligans were up to.  Harmless dodge ball from what I could gather. But I was surprised at how much my kids loved it.

I noticed one other mom, idly watching the children from her balcony.  She noticed me and said "They're being a little wild tonight, huh."   And I did a double-take, because I knew her son is three...yep, there he was, right in the thick of it, running around the block with children four times his size.

If Joey had known, I'm sure he would have glared meaningfully at me ("See! His mom lets him play with the giants!") but he was too busy trying to catch up to everyone on his scooter.  When he finally did reach everyone, he hurtled his small body at Paul (who is 9), trying to tackle him to the ground, flailing his arms, giggling wildly, to hoots of laughter from all of the other kids.

Oh, dear.  Switzerland, with it's rough and ready children, suits Joey just fine.  But, since Joey has to return to America (and preschool) in six months, I don't want him practicing his tackling just yet.  Yowling Joey was tucked under my arm, with a "no hitting" lecture on the way home.

I know. Killjoy.