Take your kid to a luxury resort. I know that sounds like bogus rookie parent advice but seriously, take them with you.
In May, my husband and I buckled our 2 year old son into his car seat and hit the scenic road that leads to the Resort at Paws Up. The pines, the gravel, the deep orange glow of a setting sun—it all hit differently when we made that righthand turn onto Sunset Hill Road. Any ordinary day of parenting can become extraordinary when glamping is on the agenda.
Luxury camping is taking everything we love about traditional camping and pairing it with the conveniences of a well adorned dream home. Electricity, air-conditioning, heat, fine linens, a private master bath and—the best part—a butler at our beck and call. The safari-style tents feature ample windows that zip open for the grand reveal of our pristine surroundings and several exquisite spots to rest our limbs at any time of day.
At our North Bank tent, a spacious balcony overlooked the Blackfoot River. We were quickly reminded of the simple joy that time away from home can offer—using the zipper on the window, listening to the sound of the river, watching birds flutter from branch to branch, jumping on the twin beds until his little head favored one pillow over another. The bathroom floor gave heat to his little soles, and the rainfall shower offered a new source of entertainment and bathing. The newness of everything reinvigorated our sleepy spirits.
The Dining Pavilion chefs seared and grilled in an open air space in a way that felt like an interactive experience. Hoisted in my arms for a front row seat, my son wiggled his sniffer like a bear cub. At our table, we unfolded a board game—our first as a family—and relished the relaxation that came over us unexpectedly.
S’moresologist is a new word in my vocabulary. Each evening after dinner, a board filled with Snickers and peanut butter cups and fresh fruit and marshmallows with graham crackers was placed in front of my son. His eyes were wide and they twinkled like the stars that pierced a perfectly blackened night sky. It was past our bedtime and we didn’t care. We ate too many marshmallows and we danced in the golden light of a bonfire until the cool air sent us hurrying back to our glowing tent. The heated blankets were on and we tucked ourselves into the fold like a love letter.
A Chuck Wagon dinner offered everything one dreams of doing for good Western fun—axe throwing, learning to rope, pitching horseshoes, listening to live music as a wood fire brings campfire food to a new level of sophistication. In its embellishment, the Resort at Paws Up ironically strips down the modern world. We are freed from the burden of technology or agenda and opened to the possibilities that nature provides.
We ate too many marshmallows and we danced in the golden light of a bonfire until the cool air sent us hurrying back to our glowing tent. The heated blankets were on and we tucked ourselves into the fold like a love letter.