We spent two days and one night at Great Wolf Lodge in Anaheim.  A wonderfully large big bear log cabin filled with thick furniture and roaring fires.

The parking garage, huge and all encompassing smelled like doughnuts, but not a sickeningly sweet manufactured smell.  Just a gentle, subtle smell of sugar and cinnamon.  Gone was the scent of oil, smoke, and gas.  Gone were the smells of the outside world.

20 luggage carts existed in the corner of that huge parking garage.  These carts thoughtfully placed on every level. They looked like a mirage.  I couldn’t believe it.  Surely these carts would cost money to rent!  They were perfect little carts, rows and rows of them.  I had to see for myself so I headed over.  Yes, they were free. Yes, please take one. Yes, please take it to your room and keep it for your stay.

Orange bands encircled our wrists once we registered for our rooms.  These benign little tracking devices opened rooms (or didn’t), and kept watch for you.  While you were here, you were here.  Here to spend time with your family, here to investigate safely through a huge home filled with candy shops, bakeries, arcades, restaurants, and huge pools and water slides.

I surrounded myself with the warm and humid air pumped out throughout the building.  I delighted in the icy coldness of the bathrooms, with the tiled floors, and the hot showers.  Then to be hit again with this warm humid air once I went back out into the huge play area again.

It was a place for beer drinking and fried foods.  A place of discarded moist towels on the floor and wet feet.  A place for moisture, for standing water, for chlorine, for sweet sticky drinks, for families gathered around little tables. Then there were other families that sat in an orderly line.  All snacks and bottled water from home carefully packed. Salty chips and Oreos,  decorative flip flop shoes, and lacy cover ups over bathing suits never wet.

This place was such a fascinating cornucopia of families. There were folks that arrived, disorganized and cheerful.  Happily kicking off their sandals and dumping towels and clothes all over chairs.

Then there were others that floated in, smelling of vanilla and flowers and clean.  Oversized bags of all colors and materials, filled with dry clothes, books, snacks, lotions, and bandaids.  Pouches of makeup included in cute pink zippered bags.  A separate pouch for pens and various writing instruments.  A journal filled with thoughts and observations.  Their area was tidy.  Flip flops tucked under chairs, low tables wiped off of all spilled drinks.  Fresh warm towels brought in and carefully laid out.  These people were not at all offended by the chaos, screams, and wet around them.  They  created their own sweet oasis in their chair with their books and their big bags and their studied observations.  This was me, all the way.

My kids left and came back, left and came back.  Off to  have adventures.  Sometimes I joined them, leaving my little writing oasis behind. We all would run off and grab inner tubes and mats.  Holding this equipment up mightily as we ventured up the stairs.  The cold water and speed was shocking but comforting.  I had no control of my body but was simply left to the elements.  I graciously let go in these speed filled, splashed filled moments.   Then I would return to my oasis to savor and relax. The kids would return, wide eyed and happy.  John and I would envelope them  in the warm dry towels, rub their tiny arms, widen our eyes and open our ears to hear all of the kids’  adventures. Then we would pull them into our arms, sit them on our laps, or say I love you as our babies would quickly dump their excited news and run off again to gather more.

And the big huge bear clock continued to mark the time instead this peacefully chaotic environment.  A place of vacation, of spending time slowly and leisurely.  A place of bathing suits and towels. A place of no pretenses.  A holy place.