At The Copacabana

I don't know how this kid does it. I really don't. I spend weeks, sometimes months, researching and investigating and Googling and negotiating to put together a fantastic tropical vacation, and Shae manages to pull one together on a Saturday morning, out of an inflatable pool in my mother-in-law's backyard.

It's like a resort just for one back there. She can relax in the shade in her own private cabana. The personal waitstaff is not pictured, but everyone was at full attention: cook/waiter, sunscreen applier/hoser-offer, and toll bridge/entertainment committee. And believe me, none of us were tipped. (Stupid all-inclusive grumblecakes.)

A quick trip to the personal spa, to get a pedicure (which, in this case, meant "getting the grass and mud off her feet").

Take a load off, put your feet up, relax after an exhausting week of, like, playing and learning stuff. Would the young lady like some fresh-cut watermelon, or perhaps some ice cold grapes? A juice box? Maybe some whole-grain crackers?

Just lay back and let the cool, clear water wash your cares and worries away. Don't worry about anything, we'll pause your shows for you.

Man, does this kid have the life, or what?