Day 2: The four-year-old Adult and the Two-Year-Old Fugitive

Morning arrived gently for once.

The kids were still sleeping when I woke up. Wesley was stretched out a few feet from my bed, which also happened to be his sister's bed. Despite protesting bedtime like he was negotiating the terms of a peace treaty the night before, he had slept straight through without getting up once.

Lola, meanwhile, had spent the night playing an aggressive game of Snakes and Ladders in her sleep. Every imaginary roll of the dice brought her a little closer to my side of the bed. By morning I was hanging off the edge of the mattress with approximately three percent blanket coverage and one butt cheek suspended over open air.

The kids woke up hungry, which activated my dad instincts. Within minutes I had deployed crustless Nutella sandwiches directly into their stomachs via their mouths. They supplemented this gourmet breakfast with cheese slices and milk from our portable electric cooler.

Remember, we don't travel light. We travel like we're preparing for a six-month expedition into the Arctic.

The hotel we're staying at has fully committed to the family resort experience and honestly we're all here for it. The ground floor has an arcade connected to a small movie theatre for kids and a play area filled with kinetic sand and toys. The kids attacked all of it with their usual boundless energy.

I didn't bother giving them quarters for the arcade. They're still too young to possess the skills required to accomplish anything meaningful. At this stage they'd just mash buttons randomly and somehow still lose to a machine designed for four-year-olds.

Still, being there brought back a lot of memories.

When I was a kid my dad would occasionally take me to arcades armed with a pocket full of quarters. Back then it felt magical. The games were bigger, louder and more impressive than anything we could possibly have at home. The variety alone was incredible. Today most of us carry more computing power in our pockets than those entire arcades ever had, but back then those places felt special.

I don't know that arcades will hold the same place in my kids' hearts.

What I do know is that I can't wait to share similar moments with them through games at home. Different setting, same connection.

Eventually we tore the kids away from the flashing lights, which are basically toddler catnip, and headed up to the third floor for face painting and crafts.

There was a lineup.

Unfortunately there was only one face painter and she was doing phenomenal work. Great news for the children getting painted. Terrible news for every child waiting.

Especially Wesley.

While Sophie and Lola patiently waited in line, Wesley spent the next half hour attempting to explore every square inch of the hotel. Sophie and I took turns following him up and down the hallway as he searched for opportunities. Sometimes he'd head toward the pool doors. Sometimes he'd head toward the elevators. At one point another father watched me shadowing him and quietly asked,

"He's got a lot of energy, eh?"

Buddy.

You have no idea.

The whole time this was happening Lola simply stood in line.

Patiently.

Quietly.

Without complaint.

She had already decided she wanted a rainbow butterfly and had also decided that Wesley would be getting a blue dinosaur. When her turn finally arrived I asked if she'd mind letting Wesley go first since patience isn't exactly one of his strengths.

She calmly informed me that she had been waiting longer.

Fair enough.

I wasn't about to argue with the most mature member of our travel party.

Both kids looked absolutely adorable when they were finished. I know every parent thinks their kids are cute but mine objectively became at least twenty percent cuter with face paint.

Then came crafts.

Lola and Sophie approached the assignment with focus and dedication. Wesley grabbed a pair of scissors and immediately began cutting anything within reach. Everyone worked according to their strengths.

Once the crafts were done we headed toward the indoor play structure. Finn was strapped to my chest taking everything in from his front-row seat. Sophie naturally carries most of the load with him so whenever I get these stretches where he's attached to me and just quietly observing the world, I really appreciate them.

Lola managed exactly one climb to the top and one trip down the giant slide before I realized something important.

We were missing half the family.

A quick look at my phone informed me that Sophie and Wesley had relocated to the bouncy castles.

Oops.

I collected Lola and my remarkably chill chest-mounted infant and headed outside.

The setup was fantastic. One inflatable featured a steep climb followed by an even steeper slide. Another was essentially an obstacle course designed specifically to humble children. No child successfully crossed it.

The kids spent most of their time on the giant slide. Watching them was hilarious. At the top their faces reflected pure terror. Halfway down they looked like they were reconsidering every decision that had brought them to this moment. Then they'd hit the bottom safely and immediately sprint back for another turn.

Which, now that I think about it, is pretty much exactly what it's like deciding to vacation with three young kids.

Sophie and I stood at the bottom taking pictures and soaking it all in. The fact that the place was nearly empty made it even better. Most runs they had the whole structure to themselves.

Through all this chaotic action Finley felt the best course of action was to fall asleep in the forward facing position. Only the most extreme of activities will capture his attention.

Eventually my stomach informed me that it was lunchtime, so we convinced the kids to climb into the boring mobile and headed seven minutes down the road to Laurier Québec.

Restaurants with three kids under five are often just two-hour exercises in stress management.

Food courts, however, are elite parenting infrastructure.

Nobody expects silence. Nobody expects order. Nobody expects your children to remain seated. Everyone is just trying to survive.

The mall itself was thriving. We've visited enough dying malls over the years to recognize one immediately. Empty storefronts. Empty parking lots. A building desperately trying to convince everyone it's still relevant. This wasn't that.

The place was packed.

Great for the mall.

Less great for finding parking.

Then, like a beacon from the heavens, I spotted not one but two empty family parking spots.

A miracle.

Inside we followed the directory to the food court and settled on Poulet Rouge while keeping McDonald's nuggets available as our emergency backup plan. Sophie and I loved it.

The kids did not.

Eventually we surrendered and bought nuggets anyway.

Parenting.

While I finished eating, Sophie took the kids on what they believed was a thrilling amusement park attraction.

It was an escalator.

They rode it up.

Then down.

Then up.

Then down.

The kids thought it was the greatest ride in the mall.

This detail will become important later.

After lunch we headed to Imaginaire, which is basically heaven for nerds. Comics. Manga. Board games. Collectibles. More temptation than any responsible adult should be exposed to.

The kids actually behaved incredibly well.

Lola picked out a Hama bead craft kit.

Wesley picked out a toy car.

I picked out a dice game because apparently I am physically incapable of entering a board game store without buying something.

Around this time Sophie suggested we retrieve the diaper bag from the van and grab the spending money Grandpa had given the kids.

I confidently volunteered as tribute.

Several minutes later I called her because I couldn't find the envelopes anywhere.

"They're with the passports."

Ah.

The passports I had already removed from the van and left at the hotel.

Excellent work by me.

When I finally returned, the family had migrated to the washrooms.

And this is where Wesley truly found his calling.

The family washroom featured a child-sized toilet. Wesley was so inspired by this engineering marvel that he opted to pee in it multiple times just because he could. We are currently living in that magical stage where every successful toilet visit is celebrated like an Olympic achievement.

Then came the event.

Wesley decided he was done with the washroom and opened the door which I assumed was his way of trying to help me out as navigating through doors with strollerzilla is an ordeal in itself. I assumed he'd poke his head out, maybe wander a few feet away… I was wrong, very wrong.

Instead he launched himself into the mall like a fugitive who had spent years planning his escape. He didn't even look back.

Lola immediately switched into sports broadcaster mode.

"Daddy! He's running!"

"He's going that way!"

"He's REALLY fast!"

I was ready to give chase immediately but unfortunately I was pushing a stroller which, as it turns out, is not the ideal pursuit vehicle.

By the time I rounded the corner I could see his little head bouncing in the distance. He cut through the food court weaving between tables like he was evading capture in an action movie.

Then I realized where he was headed.

The escalator.

Of course it was the escalator.

The kids had ridden it after lunch and apparently Wesley had concluded it was the greatest invention in human history. I broke into a sprint while a kind gentleman sitting near the escalator watched the unfolding situation, stood up and intercepted my son moments before he could board his beloved moving staircase.

That bought me enough time to catch up and reclaim custody.

For now.

After Sophie emerged from the washroom we headed back to Imaginaire to finish shopping with Wesley strapped into the stroller. Walking rights had been revoked. Then we decided it was probably time to find Wesley some new shoes since his current pair was getting small.

They also happened to be hand-me-downs from Lola.

The first store had a clearance rack with a couple promising options. I put one pair on his feet and brought him out into the aisle.

"Run down there and back so we can see how they fit."

Before I could finish the sentence he was gone.

Past where I thought he'd stop.

Past where I hoped he'd stop.

Straight out of the store wearing unpaid merchandise and heading toward the escalator like a tiny criminal returning to the scene of the crime.

I took off after him.

Thankfully he still struggles with the timing required to board a moving escalator so I managed to catch him before he could successfully execute phase two of his heist and before security had any questions about the stolen shoes.

Back in the store I vowed to establish some sort of perimeter.

The second pair triggered another escape attempt. This time he abandoned speed in favour of stealth and hid inside a clothing rack. I only found him because I noticed the clothes moving.

His tactics are evolving.

We're really going to have to watch this one.

Eventually we found a pair we liked at another store. The kids celebrated by dancing together in the aisle while dance music blasted overhead. Watching them laugh and feed off each other's energy is one of those little moments that always gets me. They spend plenty of time annoying each other, but more often than not they're on the same wavelength and make a pretty great team.

After that we packed everyone into the car and headed back to the hotel.

The original plan involved more activities.

Reality had other ideas.

It was well past nap time.

Back in the room we encouraged everyone to sleep and, surprisingly, most of them did. Lola stayed awake colouring for a while before eventually deciding that my primary purpose in life was providing snacks.

Once everyone woke up we headed downstairs for the evening activities.

Bluey was making an appearance.

Wesley was extremely excited right up until Bluey actually appeared. Unfortunately Bluey was accompanied by a giant duck mascot and giant mascots apparently occupy the same category in Wesley's brain as most animals.

Interesting from a distance.

Terrifying up close.

The evening rolled on with pizza, cookies, crafts, educational critters and one final session at the bouncy castles before they closed. We had grand plans of ending the night at the pool but a particularly enthusiastic hallway screaming incident resulted in an immediate change of plans + it was almost 9pm.

The pool was cancelled.

Bedtime was not.

This decision was not universally popular.

A meltdown followed.

Then colouring.

Then peace.

Then several rounds of negotiations as Wesley bounced between my bed and his crib like a tiny union representative fighting for better sleeping conditions.

Eventually darkness prevailed over toddler stubbornness.

The kids fell asleep.

The hotel got quiet.

And Sophie and I survived another vacation day with three young children.

Barely.

Life is beautiful