Don't forget to pack a wife*

Well, that wasn't so bad after all.

Our wee family spent the past four days at Geneva Park, on Lake Couchiching near Orillia. Or, to be more helpful: one stop past Casino Rama. (I was flattered when the nearby pharmacist asked me if I had a band number.)

As I mentioned, Geneva Park is a "family resort", with a vengeance - it's actually run by the YMCA. (Who knew they were still around?) You couldn't avoid "the Y" when I was a kid, but we've had no relationship since - though I know they are still in the gym racket. Anyhow, they seem to have dropped most of the Christian stuff, and their focus on healthy kids and communities is a good fit for a summer retreat.

The "resort" is deliberately old school - a lodge of smallish, basic hotel rooms plus dozens of bare-bones cottages. These are your grandparents' cottages - painted wood, second hand lamps, Scrabble.

We stayed in the lodge, and ate at the communal dining area. Depending on your outlook, this is like:

- Staying at a cottage, except you don't have to wash the dishes and there's unlimited chocolate milk
- Staying at a cheapish motel, with bad beds and no TV or air conditioning
- Staying at a college dorm, without the sex, drugs or rock 'n roll

Once I got over the fact that this wasn't the Four Seasons, I began to appreciate the cottage feel, and the daily supply of fresh linens in no way subtracted from it.

One of the great things about the association with the Y is that the place serves as a leadership training facility for teens. In practical terms, this means there are almost unlimited counselors to help look after the younglings. (At the morning program for children, there were 18 kids and 15 counselors.)

Of course, my kids would have none of it. I think they can smell senior kindgarten and preschool lurking around the corner, and weren't about to put up with being herded into a program of any sort, no matter how fun. Which was fine - they wanted nothing more than to sit on the beach and play with plastic dinosaurs. Whatever floats your boat.

I was less amused by how fussy the little blighters were when it came to meal time. Even when they were served something they normally like, the conversation went like this:

Dad: Have some pasta.
Child: I don't like pasta.
Dad: Yes you do. It's one of only three things you ever eat.
Child: It's too pasta-ey.
Dad: What?
Child: Can you get me more chocolate milk?
Dad: In a minute. Eat your pasta.
Child: I don't like the red sauce.
Dad: I'll give you some without much sauce on it.
Child: Still too red. Wipe it with a cloth.
Dad: Manners...
Child: Wipe it with a cloth please.
Dad: There, these ones are white as chalk. Eat.
Child: Too many.
Dad: There, now there's only one.
Child: Cut it.
Dad: ...
Child: Cut it please.
Dad: There, now it's in quarters.
Child: Take some away.
Dad: There. One tiny piece.
Child: I ate some, and I didn't like it.
Dad: No, you licked it.
Child: I didn't like the lick.
Dad: You have to eat something, or you won't feel good.
Child: Can I have more chocolate milk?

Fortunately one of the 7,000 counselors stopped me throwing her in the lake (leadership at work). Back in the lodge, all was forgiven as the little angel snuggled up to me and fell asleep without a care in the world, or a trace of hunger. Turns out, four-year-olds can swim all day fueled by a single lick of sauceless pasta.

Anyhow, the sunsets were dynamite, the water was warm, and the kids demanded that next year, we stay for 10 days. We'll see.

As we checked out, we passed incoming greenies on their way to the Couchiching Conference, which is held at the resort. This year the event features luminaires like Mark Kingwell and John Ralston Saul. I hope they like chocolate milk.

* Ten cool points to my sister for correctly identifying Holiday in Cambodia by the Dead Kennedys.