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Ever notice how many different types of vacations there are? Package options are available for pretty much any interest. You can even go to a camp catering to the knitting crowd, though that kind of excitement isn't for everyone.

Our family has purchased several types of holiday packages in summers past, but this year we wanted to do something a little different. We decided to plan our own vacation. Really, it was my idea, and as the rest of the family was less than enthusiastic, it fell to me to co-ordinate things.

Being a diplomatic type of person, my first step was to ask each family member for their holiday criteria. My husband said whatever I picked was fine with him, but I know better than to believe that, and jotted down 'scuba diving' on my list, right under my 'shopping'.
Next was our oldest daughter. She HAD to go someplace with a beach covered with gorgeous boys or she wasn't going to go. (I thought that I might have trouble finding a pamphlet for boy covered beaches.)

Our middle child wanted to go someplace that held rock concerts daily, or she wasn't leaving the house. Also, we had to pretend not to know her while we were there. I told her it might be a bit of a challenge to find such a place, but she couldn't hear me with the stereo headset on.

That left the baby of the family. He always wants to go to Fun World. The occasion doesn't matter. It can be a weekend family thing, his birthday, Mother's Day, or Christmas vacation. For some reason or other, he enjoys standing in line ups for two hours to get on a three minute ride. At least he's easy to please.

That left the cat , who didn't care where we went. As long as we went and left him at home.

Weeks later, after visiting travel agencies for ideas, making phone calls and asking anyone I met for holiday information, I assembled the family for a meeting. The kids chattered excitedly, wanting to know what I had come up with. My husband looked suspiciously from me to the single brochure sitting on the table. I dearly wanted to remind him that anything I picked was fine with him, but like I said, I am a diplomat.

When the din subsided, I smiled and held the booklet up for everyone to see. Each expectant face took on a stunned look of disbelief as they stared in horror at the picture of the La-de-da Inn, complete with cute little Swiss style shutters and a sign beside the front door advertising a Miss Senior's Citizen contest on Saturday Night.

My husband took on a green hue as he realized it was located just down the street from my mother's house, but as I pointed out, the hotel was close to downtown shopping, and I wouldn't have to cook and clean. Besides, scuba charters could easily be arranged at the front desk.

As I turned to the girls, I couldn't help but notice that the atmosphere had begun to feel a little tense. I wanted to reassure them that the odds were good that there would be at least one boy by the pool and that every room had a radio. Our son could paddle boat on the nearby lake, or rent a bicycle. Best of all, it was only a half hour from home so we could return to feed the cat on a daily basis.

Before I could add the part about us saving money by eating at Grandma's house every night, the small mob turned angry and stalked out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with my brochure. I heard my son ask his father if all mothers went senile at forty. My husband said no, not all of them, but most were banned from travel offices. He promised the kids that he would have my name added to the list.

Learn more about this author, Shirley Anderson.
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