Our beach vacation had barely begun when my six-year-old daughter, Emma, spotted a little ice cream cart near the boardwalk.
We had been at the resort for less than two hours, but she had already declared it « the best place in the whole world. »
After the year we had endured, I wanted desperately for that to be true.
Emma ran ahead, her pink sandals kicking up sand as she pointed toward the striped umbrella over the cart.
« Mom! Ice cream! »
I laughed. « We haven’t even had lunch yet. »
« Vacation rules, » she replied seriously.
I could not argue with that.
Continue on the next page:
