The group wakes up and slowly comes to life. The day begins. Breakfast is addressed. Cereal and milk, egg sandwiches, toast, coffee, cut apples, water and juice. Plans are made. Pool or beach? Which pool? What section of the beach? Scouts are sent forth to establish a base camp and secure lounges, towels, umbrellas.
Suits are put on, sunscreen applied. Water toys, books and other necessary items assembled. Around noon or 1 p.m., after two or three hours spent floating in the water, sifting for shells in the surf, building sand castles or just reclined on a lounge, the siren song of the blended, slushy drink becomes too loud to ignore. The adults order up a round. The kids want the same thing, mostly. Over the course of the afternoon each child will request an average of 3.2 virgin concoctions, which - oddly enough - is exactly the number of sips they will consume out of each drink before it becomes a soupy mess and is abandoned. The adults do not have this problem.
The day rolls into a blissful afternoon. They ring the bell for happy hour at 3 p.m., just in case you've gotten off track. The sun feels warmer now, the vacation more visceral. Dinner is discussed and arranged. Reservations at some place for 6. Or 6:30. 7? The meal is followed by an ice cream cone for the kids and maybe some casino time for the adults. Maybe not.
Wake up the next morning and do it all again. The cliché applies. Another day in paradise.