It’s a particularly cold day in my small city in southwestern Ontario. The snow is falling in thick flakes, and a 30-centimetre-deep blanket of snow is already covering the ground. I pull up my Instagram feed and see that a friend is escaping the snow by soaking up the sun in Florida, with her son digging his chubby fingers into the soft South Beach sand. I scroll a little further and see that another friend has posted a swoon-worthy shot of her three kids smiling in front of the Trevi Fountain in Rome. I feel a pang of jealousy and look around at the scattered Barbie dolls in my living room and the dried-up Cheerios on the kitchen table. It’s hardly an Instagram-worthy moment, much like most moments spent raising three busy and active kids. Then I ask myself: Do I really want to be trekking through Europe or driving to Florida with my three kids right now? The answer is an easy “No, thank you.”
Please stop telling me I need to take my kids on vacation
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