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forward progress. But when he tries to plant himself firmly on two feet, he sits down.
    Boston Mills’ marketing manager Kim Laubenthal helped us sit Buster down with our babysitter in the clean, cheerful cafeteria. Even the undersides of the tables were clean, our babysitter remarked, having seen all of them while chasing Buster. We foisted off Poppet on an amiable certified kids’ instructor, Herta Schwaiger. Mrs. O. went to ski somewhere out of the range of advice from me. Or she said she did. (Several malls are nearby.) And I took Muffin on the Boson Mills expert run.
    This turned out to
be
an expert run. Or sixty yards of it was. A landfill ramp had been bulldozed out from the modest natural slope of the hill. Beyond the lip of this ramp was the closest thing Ohio has to a headwall. Muffin went right over the edge. My heart pumped, but not as fast as her knees. She went down in half a dozen perfect little parallels with daylight beneath her skis on every one. She did this another fifteen times. It is impossible for a child to be bored by anything that scares a parent.
    Alongside the headwall run was a genuine, if abbreviated, mogul field. Here Daddy messed up. I swear I can turn once as well as anyone. It’s just that before I can turn again, I—to judge by my mogul performance—need to sit down. Muffin skied the bumps with the special grace of a seven-year-old girl, part ballerina and part frog. The head-wall and mogul field shared a chairlift with the snowboardpark. The teenage snowboarders were much better than the adult skiers. Summers on a skateboard give you moves you don’t get being dragged behind a Correct Craft. Plus, no Alps or Rockies are needed for snowboarding. You can just neglect to shovel wheelchair access ramps and slide the railings. But these were Ohio snowboarders, with no tattoos. As for piercing, only the high school girls’ giggles were that. They were all wearing the requisite bag-it-came-in clothing, but the snowboarder attitude eluded Ohio youngsters. They fussed over Muffin. It will be a shock to the sport when the Greater Cleveland Style hits snowboarding at the X-treme Yes Ma’am No Ma’am games with Hilary Duff blasting from the speakers during the half-pipe competition.
    I lured Muffin back to the cafeteria with a promise that she could try snowboarding just as soon as the College of Orthopedic Surgeons and her mom say it is OK. Herta Schwaiger gave an upbeat assessment of Poppet’s skiing progress.
    â€œShe’s very sweet, and she can do almost everything now.”
    â€œEverything but stop,” said Poppet.
    â€œWell, yes,” Herta said, “her stopping needs some work.”
    â€œI stopped for hot chocolate,” Poppet said.
    Mrs. O. returned from skiing suspiciously un-snow-encrusted. Buster was retrieved from under a table. And we all went back to our superluxury spa resort off Interstate 90 in Concord, Ohio.
    If you don’t think there’s a superluxury spa resort off Interstate 90 in Concord, Ohio, it’s because you don’t travel with three small children and don’t know the meaning of superluxury. It means connecting rooms with doors that can be opened only from the parents’ side; PBS Kids and no Jerry Springer on the cable TV; speedy room service specializingin shocking-colored, fudge-flavored breakfast cereals and chicken fingers; patient, forgiving housekeepers who can erect a portable crib and are handy with a mop; and a really shallow indoor pool where air and water temperatures are slightly too high for humans and thus perfect for Muffin, Poppet, and Buster. Of such is the luxury at Renaissance Quail Hollow Resort, which also has a steak house worthy of a state full of cows (serving chicken fingers, too) with patient, forgiving waitresses who are handy with a mop. As for the spa part, a cigar bar serves single-malt Scotch as old as I felt when the kids got their second wind and began doing