We spent the past weekend in London, ON. My cousin Michelle (aunt Michelle to our kids) just defended her PhD dissertation and we were invited to her PhD completion party.
We stayed in a hotel room with my parents, the third time we've done so. The kids absolutely loved it - the time spent with Nana and Papa, the swimming pool, the fact that there was a TV in front of the beds, that there was an elevator, that we ate out in restaurants.
The first time we stayed in a hotel (last fall when we met up with my parents in Sarnia and visited my Pake in the hospital), Claire didn't quite know what to think of it. On our way back to the hotel after eating dinner, she said, "When we get back to our new home, can I watch TV?"
We all laughed at the time, as we imagined what might be going on in her mind, on how she was trying to making sense of her new experience.
Now that I reflect on it, I realize her concept of "home" is profound. Home to her was having the people she loved be around her. Mommy, Daddy, Nana, Papa, David...throw in a few beds, towels, clothes and TV (!) and she was all set.
Why does "home" for me get so complicated with things and possessions and stuff?
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I wonder if kids enjoy the "closeness" of a hotel room - like you mentioned having all the family around. Anika likes to "play hotel". She chooses a room in the house and makes a bed in it for each of us.
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