Unlike myself, my niece and nephew would rather spend their last moments of a trip in the hot tub, and I really can’t blame them. It was one of their favorite haunts on this vacation, so that’s where I found them when I was finishing up my packing and getting ready to roll out of Cape Cod for this season.

For my last hurrah, I indulged in this decadent breakfast cupcake at Buckie’s, a caramel almond concoction that was worth however many cavities it gave me. It was the sweetest ending to a very sweet vacation. (And ok, maybe it wasn’t technically a “breakfast” cupcake, but I ate it as such and feel better when it’s designated accordingly.)

A wistful look back over the last few days would have to see Andy and me through the ride home.

Remembering the splashing in the water, the way the sun felt on my shoulders, and the sand on my feet…

Remembering my family on the beach –  the entire family – for the first time in almost three decades…

Remembering Andy posing in front of this car…

and playing miniature golf like it was baseball, and eating this ice cream…

… and not wanting to say good-bye.

Let’s do it again next year.

Two things that signified the Cape Cod vacations of our youth were miniature golf and ice cream at the Lil Caboose. The former was easy to replicate, and we soon found ourselves swinging away on an 18 hole course. (Yes, 18 – which, after the first two holes took half an hour to get through, meant for a very long evening.)

I don’t want to brag, but I was averaging two shots per hole, thank you very much. It’s all in the ball – and my chosen color was purple.

Andy was a maniac on the mini-greens, launching his ball out of bounds more often than not. People were actually moving out of the way when he came up to putt. (Mainly my brother and myself.)

The twins handled themselves pretty well until the last few holes. Emi was done with the whole process, and Noah was getting unruly. A few sets of players behind us had already been advised to play through, and most welcomed the chance. The mosquitoes were also out by this time, so I was very thankful when the last ball disappeared into the abyss of the last hole.

For our final outing on this family vacation, we stopped by a childhood haunt – the Lil Caboose – for ice cream. I’d spotted the venerable establishment earlier that day, astounded that it was still around, and that I still remembered. My brother instantly recalled it, and I finally realized that in many ways he is more nostalgic than me. As his kids enjoyed their first Lil Caboose experience, the distant memories of our vacations came back little by little. It was different being one of the adults this time, but different in a good way. One of the things that remained the same was the feeling, on that last night, of not wanting it to end.

The only problem traveling with a pair of four-year-olds is that meals don’t always run as smoothly as an adult like myself would prefer they would. I was expecting this, so the meltdowns the twins had were not super surprising. Yes, I was new to that (if we ever behaved like that as kids we would be in trouble I can’t even fathom) but I took it all in stride. The trouble with twins is that there is double the chance for trouble, so when one was behaving the other was breaking down. And vice versa. It made for a less-than-merry go-round, but after a while it became routine, and most of the restaurants we ate at were accustomed to kids.

Our last meal was one of our best – both behavior-wise and as far as food went. The Ocean House, from the outside, looked like just another tourist trap on the shore, but inside it was elegant, and boasted the best dishes of the entire vacation – such as this lobster salad intro and a sea bass entree.

The walk back to the hotel was filled with golden-hour light, so we paused for pictures on a walk leading to the shore.

Getting my brother and my husband to pose for photos is hard enough – adding a pair of four-year-old twins to the mix is all but impossible to manage. That’s when you let go and let God. (And laugh – a lot.)

Andy somehow managed to wrangle out this decent shot, and just in time: the promise of miniature golf and ice cream had these kids on the edge of everything.

It’s been years – almost thirty in fact – since I last played on the beach with my brother. But when he asked me to help his kids bury him in the sand, it was as if no time at all had passed. We’d done that as kids – well, I’d buried him (never the other way around because I did not find any joy in being buried alive) and here we were doing it with his children. Someone just needs to cue the ‘Circle of Life’ and be done with it.

There’s something very Tim Burton-esque about seeing your brother’s disembodied head in the sand, barking orders to his kids, and then to you. And there’s something very satisfying about getting to ignore those orders.

After seeing the fun that his Dad was having, Noah wanted to be buried too. Like father, like son.

Noah’s sister Emi was only too happy to oblige. Like uncle, like niece.

When the sun beats down, and the ocean laps at your feet, there is little to do but enjoy the moment, listen to the sea gulls, and take it all in. Making it even more special is the excitement and thrill that the kids get when frolicking on the beach. Without further words to get in the way, here is the start to a series of posts from our family vacation.