So we’re leaving for an indoor waterpark today.
My mom loves to swim. My sister loves to swim. My dad loves to pretend he’s on the beach, and I usually enjoy swimming once I get there. (That might involve being thrown into a pool while I’m fully clothed, but that’s another story.) Honestly, though, I’m a little apprehensive about going.
Let me back up. A long time ago, we lived in northern Illinois, so far north that we could get to the Wisconsin border in less time than it took us to get to the nearest Walmart and back. And so, since we didn’t have the option of swimming for too many months of the year, my parents used to take my sister and me to the Wisconsin Dells every so often.
I remember Camelot a little bit, and Key Lime Cove a little bit more, but the last one my parents took us to was called Chula Vista. We didn’t stay at the actual Chula Vista resort—our hotel was more of an actual hotel, with a topless mermaid painted on the wall of our room. Oh, and there was a Jacuzzi tub. Except that the bathroom was apparently too small to put it in, so it was in the main room.
Chula Vista was amazing. It had a Mesoamerican theme, and I remember going around the lazy river singing a homeschool history sentence about the Olmecs, Mayans, and Aztecs. The slides and kiddy playground were fun, but the best part was a water coaster that was so high above everything else, I mistook it for an air duct. It was called the “Flyin’ Mayan,” and I must have ridden it six or seven times. Here's a picture:
My little sister hadn’t been feeling well. All I knew was that she’d been running a low-grade fever, which meant that one of my parents stayed home with her and let her swim in the Jacuzzi while I played at the hotel pool.
On the last day of our stay, we went back as a family to Chula Vista. We had a wonderful time until we were all dried off and bundled up, ready to head out into the wintery Wisconsin world and go home.
And then my sister threw up.
The staff was wonderful and cleaned everything up while my mom tended to my sister in the restroom. I just remembered standing there, slightly freaking out, and looking so scared and out-of-place that a staff member asked if I was okay.
Now, the Chula Vista Incident is just another thing for our family to laugh about. Nothing like that’s happened since, and I’m praying it won’t happen in the future. I guess I really don’t have too much to be apprehensive about…besides my irrational fear that the stair platforms will break down while we’re standing on them and I’ll fall to my death on nonslip concrete. But maybe, that’s something everyone worries about.
What’s your favorite vacation story? Do you have an irrational fear of waterpark stairs breaking? Let me know I’m not alone in the comments below! God bless you, dear readers, and don’t forget to like us on Facebook!
M. J. Piazza is a Jesus-loving, dog-walking country girl who just so happens to write books.