Many of my Facebook friends have children, so it’s not like I feel special or anything. I like to stalk their profiles, check out all the pictures of their smiling kids’ faces, the drooly close-ups, the saggy diaper poses. But what I truly marvel at is those photos of family vacations where everyone is smiling and cavorting around in gentle breezes. If I’m not mistaken, at least four of these “friends” have embarked on family holidays, all with children of varying ages. Hawaii was the destination of choice, and there were plenty of photo albums to peruse. Smiling faces, waves, ancient volcanic rock, palm trees, natural parks, more smiling. All quite lovely. But do I believe it? Should I not, in true cynical fashion, wonder if these parents partook of a host of barbiturates upon arrival? Prozac? Perhaps they snorted lines of St. John’s Wart in the hotel bathrooms? I don’t know. I just wonder how they could go away for such great lengths of time and still return smiling. Gawd.

This weekend, we took Simone to Anvil Island for one night. That’s right, one night. We went up on Saturday morning, hopped in the boat, and skipped along Horseshoe Bay for about twenty minutes until we arrived at Daybreak Bible Camp, where our close friends are caretakers. Brilliant sunshine, shoulder rides along trails to hidden pebble beaches where we could collect sea glass, friendly cats that didn’t mind toddlers pouncing on them to give hugs, great food. An oasis away from the constant harangue of construction across the street from us and those idiot shit-heels with their bass-heavy car stereos. Mind you we were greeted by the sounds of a new roof being put on a cabin nearby, kids firing rifles at targets, and 150 hormone-crazed teenagers racing around the rental areas. Not to mention a wife who fell under the weather and a daughter who has consistently woken up at 5:30 am for the past several months, ready to assault the day.

One measly bloody night and we were so damn tired we almost slept in the car once we arrived back at our home. It was the kind of fatigue that grabbed you by the bowels and condemned your bones to future metaphors of mythological death. Of course, Simone was happy as a lark. Her parents? Asleep by nine-thirty, asses in the air like hippos stuck in shallow mud-puddles. One night of holidaying is all we could muster. What will come of our plans to disappear to San Diego during the Winter Olympics? Or how about visiting relatives? Hell if I know.

I’m still convinced our other friends are on opiates though. Hawaii for a week? What did they do, leave the kids in the hotel bathroom for most of the day? Sprinkle Ritalin on their Cheerios? Use those decibel-activated dog-collars that emit shocks of electricity when voices get too loud?

No, they actually didn’t go on holiday. Green screens, baby. Line the family up and pose in front of the green screen. Hawaii, my ass.