Airplane races at the sick resort

As my parents left yesterday, my dad joked that he didn't want to come to this "resort" again. Owen and I were sick for the bulk of their visit, which ranked right up there with the time they joined us at the beach about a year and a half ago, and Will threw up the first night and as soon as he was on the mend Owen started vomiting and didn't let up for the rest of our stay.

The boys, though, thought it was magical to have two willing playmates trapped mostly indoors with them. They played games, did puzzles, read books, built towers, drew pictures, went on treasure hunts and occasionally Will got to sneak outside for a park outing or some baseball in the back yard. After my parents left yesterday, and in spite of my many patient explanations that they had flown back on the plane to Colorado, Owen kept looking at me and saying in frustration, "Grammy and Grandpa STILL not come back." He must have said it 30 times.

One of the highlights of the indoor games were airplane races. The boys and my mom or dad counted "uno, dos, tres" and let their paper planes fly.

If your plane soared the furthest distance you could celebrate like this: