We found ourselves at a Hampton Inn in Northern California, en route to Disneyland, crammed into one room with two beds and a roll-away. After an hour of negotiating with my 9-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter about the dangers of jumping between beds, our 2-year-old was blissfully engaged in her own mischief, dismantling the hotel refrigerator with gleeful squeals.
When we first booked the room online, the system mistakenly informed us that we couldn’t accommodate more than four people, leading to a futile argument with the hotel staff until they reluctantly agreed to our reservation. Fast forward to our time in the pool, where the kids emerged with more energy than ever before, and all I could think about was how heavenly it would be to have a separate room for them, a bag of chips, and a solid night’s sleep. I wouldn’t actually do that, but the thought made me chuckle.
I used to picture family vacations as serene moments, kids quietly gazing out the window, or peacefully sleeping in hotel beds. But that idyllic image is a far cry from reality.
Sharing a hotel room with children often means constant pleas to visit the pool, despite the exhaustion from hours of driving with kids yelling for snacks or whining about how much longer it is until we arrive. The thought of stepping into a chilly, echoing hotel pool feels overwhelming, yet you put on a bathing suit and dive in to avoid the endless complaints.
The scene is chaotic: towels soaked in chlorine on the floor, wet swimsuits strewn about, and kids with wild hair bouncing from bed to bed, squealing and bickering until the hotel manager knocks on your door, requesting a bit more consideration for fellow guests. You apologize profusely, while your partner silently fumes at the manager, her expression clearly saying, “Do you really think we can control these little tornadoes?” You can’t help but assume the guests below are childless millennials who have no clue about the reality of parenting.
It’s about turning on the TV to whatever cartoon the kids want to pacify them, only to hear them argue over whether to watch My Little Pony or SpongeBob, both airing at the same time. As parents, you eventually find yourselves yelling for peace, all while reminding everyone that this is a vacation.
Kids often cry because the hotel water “tastes funny,” and one parent might crash in bed with a child while the others remain glued to the screen long past their bedtime, eyes glazed over and ready to erupt if anyone dares suggest turning it off. You let them stay up, knowing you’re in for a long night with the blue glow of the TV lighting the room.
Sharing a bed with kids starts off sweet and cozy but quickly turns into a wrestling match of awkward angles, kicks, and the occasional face-full of a diaper-clad butt at 2 a.m. You wake to find your partner, hair askew and eyes bloodshot, holding a wide-awake child while you’ve blissfully slept through it all, earning yourself the title of the ‘biggest jerk’ in the room.
By dawn, the kids are back at it, begging to hit the pool again, and a sad breakfast of stale doughnuts and nearly expired yogurt awaits. Once the night concludes, bags are packed, the van is loaded, and you check out, only to hit the road again, wondering if these family vacations are truly worth the chaos.
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In summary, sharing a hotel room with kids is a whirlwind of noise, chaos, and unexpected moments that often leave you questioning your sanity and the joys of family vacations. But amid the madness, there’s a unique bond that forms, making it all worthwhile in the end.