It’s funny, isn’t it, how the last day of a holiday seems to be filled with going home. As I lay in bed waking up, I was thinking of what needed to be packed, what needed to be eaten so that it didn’t have to be packed and that sort of thing.

Reid and I left Ken to sleep in a bit on Monday morning and tried to go to the highly-recommended [1] Apple Betty’s in [2] Morrisburg for breakfast. Reid was starving, ready to chew on her own fingers by the time we made it from [3] Iroquois to [2] Morrisburg and then to far side outskirts of town. Of course, the restaurant was closed. We went to the Macintosh Inn instead. Reid wanted sausages (of course) and I added toast so that the waitress didn’t think I’m a bad mother. I ordered french toast and the waitress warned me that they would be sweet. I kind of shrugged not knowing what to say. Later I heard her offering to bring the cinnamon and sugar separately. I’m glad I hadn’t had the option. The french toast that were placed in front of me were encrusted with 1/4 centimetre of cinnamon and brown sugar. It was a lot like eating freshly-baked doughnuts. Yum! I had to stop after a piece and a half because the sugar was making me twitchy.

As we drove back to the cottage, Reid told me that she and Ken would be doing the packing and I should sit down. While that sounded pretty good, I thought it might cause some stress in my relationship with Ken. I convinced her that I should pack the food and leave her and Ken to the the “stuff”. We all worked together for a while and then Ken and Reid went to the gazebo to play. She had asked me to go but I wanted to be alone more than I wanted to slack. It was going along swimmingly until we got into the car. Ken is a foot taller than me and needs the driver seat farther from the steering wheel than I do, surprisingly enough. I had the backseat floor packed. Oops!

We were only 10-minutes late leaving. Since we’d been told we needed to be out at 10ish, I thought we did well. We drove to [5] Upper Canada Village and took the miniature train to [6] Crysler Park Beach. I’d always thought that the train just ran in a purposeless loop but, since we didn’t use the only tickets we’d bought for it at during the [7] Alight at Night event we went to last year, I had no real information. I’d never given much consideration to the term “miniature train” but if I had, I would have thought of the train as being short, cute and low to the ground. I wouldn’t have equated “miniature” to “torture”, as in “when you’re 6 foot 2, a miniature train is a form of torture that you endure if you love your daughter.” Poor Ken has such long legs that he couldn’t get comfortable even when he sat as sideways as possible on the little seat. He didn’t complain - I couldn’t fault him for the grimace of pain that crossed his face. Being short has some advantages, it turns out.

We got off the train with our basket of sand toys and picnic lunch when we got to the little train station at [8] Crysler Park beach. The beach was only a short walk away. The sand at the edge of the St Lawrence River seemed “imported” to me, not that I’m an expert but it didn’t seem to match the stones in the river. I’m not complaining about the sand, though, since it was fine and clean and perfect for castles. Ken and I built the castles and Reid destroyed them with glee. I convinced her to wait while I built a compound with several castle buildings and even a wall. Reid was trying to wiggle herself into the hole I was making as I filled my buckets and so I made a point of digging a girl-shaped hole. Soon enough, she was laying in the hole and I was covering her with sand. Have I started a odd little habit or do all kids like to be buried in sand? Once freed from the sand, Reid offered a brief look of admiration, or was that calculation, for my development Reid asked if she could knock it down. She danced and stomped and soon all was flat.

We ate our lunch at a picnic table, disposing of some of the leftover groceries and then went back to the train station when we saw the train’s approach. The train ran every half hour, and with the unrelenting approach of nap time, we were able to stay only an hour. Plus, the need to do laundry was intruding on our vacation. We used the bathrooms at [5] Upper Canada Village, conveniently located outside of the gates, and had to explain to Reid that we weren’t able to go to see the animals. We piled into the car and Reid and I were asleep 5 minutes into the drive. Thanks to his sleeping in, Ken was able to stay awake for the whole trip.

I’ve said before how lucky we are to live in Ottawa. Now, I’ll add that I’m feeling lucky that [10] Ottawa is situated where it is.