Eric called last night. Apparently his company is putting the guys up at a Country Inns and Suites, and Eric is in hog heaven. He raved over his room, the exercise facilities, and the restaurants. I wouldn't say that I'm jealous, precisely, but I would love to someday have the experience of staying in a posh hotel. On our honeymoon, we stayed at the Patricia Grand, which was nice, but they were having problems of their own; the previous week had been "Biker Week" at Myrtle Beach, and over half of the hotels' towels had been stolen. I understand that a whole crowd of bikers actually walked into a local gourmet grocery store, walked up to the meat counter and each grabbed a good cut of meat, then walked out. Who was going to stop them?

We picked the right week to go. Not only did we miss "Biker Week," but the following week was a huge "Fun in the Sun" celebration, which found itself rained out for the entire festival. We ourselves didn't even see a cloud; it was gorgeous.

To this day, though, I'm not sure why Eric picked Myrtle Beach as our destination. Sure, he spent many family vacations there growing up, but neither of us are "beach bunnies." I can't even last an hour in the sun without turning beet red, and Eric doesn't like to swim in the ocean - he's afraid of stepping on things, and he doesn't like going without his glasses. We spent most of the week eating and shopping, spending most of the gift money from the wedding on household goods. (We got a fabulous dual-control electric blanket for cheap!) We hit the Medieval Times restaurant and saw a guy propose to his girlfriend, dressed in a suit of armor. I was introduced to hot doughnuts, Krispy Kreme style. All in all, it was a wonderful vacation, but I do wonder why he selected it.

The vacation that stands out most in my mind as what should have been my favorite vacation happened when I was about eleven. Mom and Dad took us to Virginia, and we split the vacation between Virginia Beach, Water Country, and Colonial Williamsburg. The vacation failed for three reasons:

• I was too young to appreciate Williamsburg. Dad, Cory, and I spent most of our time there trying to find the best fudge.
• Virginia Beach is boring for a bunch of redheads who have to keep reapplying sunscreen every half hour.
• What with all the sunscreen we used at the beach, we ran out of it halfway through the second day at Water Country. We all got second degree sunburns, couldn't walk, and had to go home early.

We did go see "Regarding Henry," with Harrison Ford, though. That was pretty good, though what with our sunburns, we ended up shivering so badly in the air conditioned theater that our teeth chattering disturbed those sitting around us.

I remember once, when I was in fifth grade (and I remember the age well, because I got a "boom box" radio for Christmas that year, along with Michael Jackson's "Thriller"), Mom and Dad planned a winter vacation. I was too young to be consulted about this, naturally, but I don't even remember being told we were going until a few hours before we left. Mom packed up Cory's things and mine, and Grandpa showed up around nine o'clock Christmas night - he and Grandma were going to caravan with us. We headed out to the old station wagon, in the back of which Mom had spread our sleeping bags. I remember quite distinctly the smell of Cory's "Cracker Jack" sleeping bag; the last time he had used it was at Grandma's house, and he had thrown up all over it. The smell never quite washed out completely, and I didn't want to sleep next to it, but I had no choice. I curled up in my own "Hollie Hobby" sleeping bag, and we fell asleep quickly.

I woke up to the sunrise. It was the first sunrise I had ever seen in my life, and I woke up with it shining brightly in my eyes. Dad pulled over shortly thereafter so that he and Grandpa could get some coffee. I, the only other person awake, went into the diner with them, and Dad let me sip some of his coffee - another first.

We returned to the cars, and made it the rest of the way to Myrtle Beach, where it was too cold to spend much time in bathing suits. This was the first, and still one of very few, beach vacation I ever had where I didn't spend most of the time miserably burnt. Mom has a picture in one of her many albums of me and Cory, standing in front of the window of our hotel room; I'm clutching another Christmas present of that year, a Cabbage Patch Kid Koosa, and Cory is holding the much-wanted doll Mom had to fight to buy for him that holiday. We both look slightly confused, but happy.

I remember riding on a swing at the beach. I remember collecting shells, and finding a sand crab that Mom wouldn't let me keep. I remember waving to Dad as he went off to play golf every morning, and then heading down to the hotel pool with Mom. I remember coming back to school after break, a very happy child.

It's kind of sad to think that my days of vacation with Mom and Dad are, for the most part, over. If I go with them in the future, it will be with a different dynamic, and not the same at all. Dad couldn't swing me up over the water; Mom won't wrap me in a towel, fresh out of the waves, when I get too cold. The only person to care for me now is Eric. I guess I've come full cycle; I look forward to swinging my own babe in the surf, bundling them away in the middle of the night for an impromptu vacation. It's my turn to plan the trip; it's my turn to be the mommy!