Day 3: The Best Memories Rarely Go According to Plan

Morning arrived with all the subtlety of a flying brick. I suspect waking up feeling like I had just closed my eyes is going to become a recurring theme on this trip.

The kids eased into the day by colouring in the dollar store activity books we'd picked up earlier. This was entirely Lola's idea. Wesley, as is often the case, simply did whatever his big sister was doing. Honestly, "Wesley does what Lola does" could probably be printed on our family crest at this point. Every completed drawing was presented to Sophie and me as though we were visiting dignitaries receiving priceless works of art. At one point Wesley proudly handed me a page and declared, "Tiens papa! Beau cadeau pour toi!"

Naturally, I reacted as if the Louvre had personally entrusted me with a masterpiece. I thanked him profusely, praised every line, shape and colour choice, then asked if the drawing came with a bisous too. Nothing. Not even eye contact. Undeterred, I asked again. This time he considered the request carefully, leaned in close and planted a giant kiss... directly on the drawing. Not on me. The artwork got the affection. I got nothing.. a humbling experience.

Eventually it was time for morning maintenance. While Wesley proudly volunteered to use the toilet, Lola stood beside him like a tiny motivational speaker supporting her brother's transition to diaper-free living. After his successful pee and celebratory flush, Lola decided she needed a turn too. Unfortunately she had brought her colouring book into the bathroom. For reasons known only to children. Somehow she managed to drop it directly into the toilet. The toilet had already been flushed, which technically made things better... but toilet water is still toilet water. The book's future looked grim. She was devastated. I tried my best to soften the blow by promising we could replace it at the dollar store later. It helped a little. Not much... but a little.

After breakfast and the usual collection of parental chores, we squeezed into our swimsuits and headed for the hotel pool. It was 9:00 a.m. and checkout was at 11:00, which gave us just enough time for the kids to have fun and me to quietly calculate how long it would take to reconstruct the impossible packing job I had somehow achieved the day before. We parked the stroller near the pool and strapped Finn into the lower seat facing the action so he could watch the festivities like a tiny VIP spectator. For the next hour the kids swam, splashed, jumped and generally behaved as though clocks were a myth invented by adults.

Eventually I had to be the villain and call an end to the fun. Back in the room I began the delicate process of repacking the Beastmobile. Somehow, against all odds, I successfully recreated the previous day's luggage Tetris masterpiece in under an hour.

I was feeling dangerously competent.

That feeling would not last.

For lunch we decided to revisit yesterday's successful mall strategy. This time we arrived wiser. Experienced. Prepared. Fully aware of Wesley's tendency to view public spaces as open-world adventure games. The first sign things might not go according to plan was the lack of family parking. After a brief expedition we eventually found a spot suitable for our vehicle, which now resembled less of a family car and more of a refugee convoy carrying enough supplies to survive a mild apocalypse.

Inside the mall, Lola asked to ride on my shoulders. Wesley immediately requested the same from Sophie. For a brief glorious moment we were pushing a stroller while each carrying a child on our shoulders. We looked like a travelling circus that had misplaced its tent.

Since it wasn't quite lunchtime yet, we burned some energy riding escalators. This ended the moment Lola detected a Bath & Body Works from several metres away. She walked to the entrance, leaned forward dramatically, took a giant sniff and announced, "Ohhhhh! It smells so good!" Sophie laughed and then spent the next thirty minutes browsing. To be fair, she earned it.

Lola was delightful in the store. She would carefully examine things, place them back exactly where she found them and occasionally ask permission before touching something. Wesley approached the experience with the confidence of a raccoon investigating unsecured garbage bins. Every shelf represented opportunity. Every fragile object represented possibility. Most of my contribution involved standing outside the store with Finn strapped to my chest while maintaining a state of heightened alert.

Eventually Sophie emerged victorious with a collection of hand sanitizers that were immediately deployed on all available family members. By then it was lunchtime. Unlike yesterday, we came prepared. The adults enjoyed poke bowls while the kids worked through a selection of cooler-based cuisine, including leftover pizza. Wesley was securely strapped into the stroller and given Goldfish crackers as an appetizer. He responded by throwing every single one onto the floor. Neither Sophie nor I were especially eager to identify ourselves as the parents responsible for the small human creating a seafood-themed crime scene. We quietly relocated the stroller and attempted to blend into the crowd.

The kids finished eating much faster than we did, so they entertained themselves by peering through a decorative plant separating our table from diners on the opposite side. Lola observed... Wesley harvested. I successfully prevented some of the plant destruction. Not all of it.

After lunch we returned to the family washroom where Wesley once again achieved potty success on the miniature toilet. The applause from the family was immediate and enthusiastic. Equally impressive was the fact that we managed to leave the washroom with all children accounted for.

Progress.

The nearby kiddie rides kept everyone entertained for another half hour without us spending a single dollar. Unfortunately Wesley firmly believed every ride belonged exclusively to him. Whenever another child approached one, he would immediately abandon his current ride and rush over to protest this injustice.

Terrible twos are less of a developmental stage and more of a management style.

Thankfully the dollar store sat directly across from the rides. Lola finally got her replacement activity book, a furry cat-themed creation that was so perfectly Lola it almost felt custom made. Everyone except Finn also received a small treat. Watching Lola share hers with Wesley became one of my favourite moments of the day. She offered him a sample. He accepted. Then she politely asked if she could try his. Normally he would have refused, but because she had just shared with him, he agreed. A flawless negotiation. I pulled her aside and told her I was impressed by both the strategy and execution.

What made me even prouder was what happened next.

She continued sharing without asking for anything else in return.

That's just who she is.

Soon it was time to head to Sophie's friends' house for the annual St-Jean-Baptiste festivities. The drive was short. Wesley fell asleep almost immediately. Finn was already asleep. Only Lola managed to resist. After a quick stop for gas and a Facebook Marketplace board game pickup that I absolutely did not need but absolutely wanted, we arrived and were welcomed as warmly as ever. I then proceeded to unload what appeared to be half a year's worth of supplies into their house while everyone finished up their workday.

The afternoon quickly shifted into party-preparation mode. Tables appeared. Food appeared. A giant tent appeared. Everyone was clearly hoping to avoid a repeat of last year's rain-soaked festivities. As more guests arrived, the pool became the centre of the universe. Adults and kids flooded into the water. The pool sat at a glorious 87 degrees, which is basically the aquatic equivalent of a warm hug.

I became Wesley's dedicated swimming partner for the afternoon. Lola wanted to swim without flotation because the older boys were doing it. The only issue was that unlike the older boys, she couldn't touch the bottom. I gently convinced her to keep her life jacket on. At one point Wesley was using a different flotation device provided by our hosts. I turned around to check on him and immediately saw something was wrong. He had flipped onto his back. His nose and mouth were barely above the water. The look in his eyes hit me instantly. I grabbed him and pulled him out. He coughed, swallowed one last mouthful of water and wrapped himself around me with a grip that communicated everything.

He was scared.

Really scared.

Thankfully it passed quickly. I switched him into the floaties we had brought and spent the rest of the afternoon playing with him in the pool. His favourite activity became launching himself off the deck onto a floating lobster as though he were some sort of professional lobster tamer. The near scare faded. The laughter returned. The day carried on.

Dinner arrived. The kids played. The adults chatted. Summer did what summer does.

Eventually bedtime arrived. The older boys had permission to stay up until midnight. Naturally this sounded like a fantastic idea to both Lola and Wesley. The difference is that Lola without sleep becomes tired. Wesley without sleep becomes a public safety concern. After a lengthy but calm negotiation, I finally got him changed and settled into bed. We spent some quiet time together on a mattress on the floor and honestly, those moments are my favourite part of parenting. Not the adventures. Not the attractions. Not the big events. Just the quiet moments when the world shrinks down to you and your child.

After Wesley was asleep, I checked on Lola. She was watching TV with one of the older boys. I suggested that staying up until midnight might negatively impact tomorrow. To my surprise she agreed immediately. No argument. No negotiation. No counteroffer. I almost didn't know what to do with myself. After her bedtime routine, I offered to lie beside her for a bit before leaving.

"No."

The answer came quickly and confidently. Part of me was disappointed because I love those quiet moments with her too, but another part of parenting is learning when to hold on and when to step back. So I respected her wishes and retreated to the room next door. She fell asleep on her own. Just like that.

Later that night, after abandoning all hopes of finishing my travel writing, I crawled into bed beside Lola. At some point during the night Wesley started having nightmares. Being nearby meant I could settle him quickly each time until eventually I brought him into bed with me and Lola. For a while it was just the three of us... one child tucked into each arm. A moment so perfect that I knew even while it was happening that I'd never forget it.

Much like my kids, we won't remember the itinerary; we'll remember how we felt.

We're only three days into this month-long adventure and already it's proving something I hope my kids learn far earlier than I did... the best memories rarely go according to plan.

Life is beautiful.