You Can’t Plan a Fun Day With Kids

I had it all planned out, you know? A super-fun day in a place we’d never been. I think there’s some special gene implanted within women with a propensity to plan, and after we have children it multiplies inside us. We are the great planners of fun, the shapers of vacations, the implementers of agenda. I had Googled, read area blogs, and taken the advice of Travel Advisor. Armed with an arsenal of fun plans for the day, I was determined to make the most of our mini vacay. After all, there’s nothing like packing two weeks of to-dos into two days.

“Go to sleep,” I instructed my 8-year-old. “You’re going to be exhausted tomorrow.

Her wide eyes stared at the ceiling with no sleepiness in sight.

It all started out with me waking them up early, you know, so we’d have more time in the day for fun. I’ll give you a hint; it was a bad idea. Then they shunned the free breakfast I had picked up in the lobby.

“You need to eat breakfast so you’ll have lots of energy for today,” I instructed.

They picked at the protein-rich scrambled eggs and drank eagerly the sugar-laden apple juice.

Two minutes after getting in the truck my 2-year-old exclaimed “hangerly” her hunger.

The plan was to go to the aquarium first, and that’s what we did. I knew exactly how long we should spend there, and still have time to sightsee downtown Charleston. So when we entered the Kid’s Coast portion, complete with a sea-creature playground, I declined their request to play there.

“We didn’t come to an aquarium to play on a playground,” I instructed.

I pulled out my map with authority.

“Come on,” I said. “This way to the sharks!”

We actually reached the end pretty quickly, and even with a 50 percent off discount, I was still astounded at the price we paid for such a short tour. Anything that’s fun to kids costs money. Yet what I wanted to do would be free!

So off we went towards downtown Charleston. I couldn’t wait to soak in the architecture, cobblestone streets, shops, and aromas of local restaurants. It would be a while before we got there, though. We had barely fit into the aquarium’s parking garage with our huge, diesel, extended cab, long-bed, dually truck. As we tried and tried to find parking closer to downtown shops we realized the difficulty, and by the time we did park the kids were bored of circling blocks.

“Why do we keep driving around?!” My 5-year-old whined.

Of note, almost everything she said was a whine. And it wasn’t the first of the day by a long shot.

“I love her. I love her. I love her.” I repeated it like a mantra to push away the thoughts of throttling.

Later we walked the streets, after finding outdoor parking, and my husband pushed a stroller while I tried to corral the others. Everywhere cars zipped down narrow streets.

“Get away from the road!”

“Come on this side!”

“Watch where you’re going!”

“Hold my hand!”

In between keeping people alive, I enjoyed the beauty around me. I stopped to take pictures of old churches and firehouses. I looked up and saw my husband a block ahead, oblivious to my meandering, on his own personal mission. To where, I have not a clue, but I quickened my pace.

It was only a couple of blocks before the fighting started. It didn’t take much for an argument to erupt between siblings. I don’t know, probably someone was breathing someone else’s airspace, or someone stepped on a crack and broke my back when someone else told them not to.

“Mom!”

“Mommy!”

“Tell her to leave me alone!”

My husband strolled on, silent. I always wondered why my name was the one most spoken.

“Mom! She hit me!”

“No, I didn’t!”

Around this point, I’m sure someone hurt themselves. Ran into one of those old, wall fire hydrants. Or slipped on a piece of air on the sidewalk. It’s hard to keep track. But someone got hurt and cried like their arm was cut off.