A friend of mine the other day was telling me about her son’s baseball team – yes this is the riveting stuff parents often find themselves talking about. In short, the people that run the team wanted to give all the players on the team trophies simply for playing (and not for winning anything). My friend turned down the request to the ire of some other parents and the sages that made this decision to give trophies to the kids for…well, just playing the game.

It brought up an interesting point that seems to come up a lot lately thanks in part to our youtube culture – it hurts to write that sentence and I wholeheartedly refuse to be a part of it. It appears that we have become a society where talent and effort is rewarded far above the substance and quality of that talent. Just peruse the internet and you’ll get a great idea of what I’m talking about, it’s pretty frightening what people think constitutes talent that should be seen and praised by all (no, I don’t care how loud you sing Adele’s ‘Someone Like You.’ You’re still off key and I wish that you would stop).

As a parent, I plan to happily teach the King about winning and losing; one of the cornerstones of life really. You see it every day - people win, and people lose. It’s very simple really and important lesson to get through one’s young head. Merely getting my coffee can be a win-lose situation if they get my order wrong. In terms of sports and working towards a goal of bringing that winning trophy home, I am thoroughly going to explain that sometimes the King is going to win and sometimes he won’t; that's just what sports (and life) is all about. And I shall not sugar coat it, as what is the point, he will figure it out soon enough: winning feels good, losing, not so much. But if he works his little royal tail off and enjoys the game he’s playing, then hey, Mamma will give him a big fat kiss and he’ll feel good for putting in the effort and have fun in the process. As for a trophy, the team that wins, gets it. It’s as easy as that. Maybe if he’s lucky and he is the runner up in the finals at Wimbledon (a mother can dream) he’ll get that dinky little silver plate - god I hate that plate, as I'm sure Andy Roddick does. But most of the time, the whole point of a trophy is that you WIN it. You don’t just get it for showing up.

Cleary the organizers of my friend’s baseball team don’t want the kids to be upset on their watch, and want to reward them for their hard work no matter if they win or lose. I get it. So buy them a cupcake. But teaching children that they are going to get trophies every time they show up to something sends the message that life is going to be far easier than it is. In brutal terms, life just doesn’t work that way and I feel much more at peace explaining this to the King now, than having to deal with him when he realises that later on in life there is no trophy or prize for losing (I'm sure there are exceptions to this, ahem Wall Street). And trust me, I’m not saying this is easy. Even at almost two the kid does not like to lose or go without. In fact, he lost a squirmish with me the other day at the coffee shop when I wouldn’t surrender my bran muffin (I’m not a mean parent, the kid had eaten…and eaten, and eaten, and it was my muffin damn it!) he threw himself on the floor and pitched a fit. No trophies there, my royal muffin.

The other thing to consider as a parent – and a team organizer if you guys are reading blogs in your spare time – is how good it will feel to your child, when they battle on with their team throughout a season and end up in first. I assure you, that trophy will feel so good sitting in their little hands being that it was duly earned. You come in first, you get a prize. You don't, you try again next time (and in some athlete's cases, again and again, and again). Welcome to life my little King. It's game on. 

I love hotel living. I’ve been staying at one with my family for the past seven days and when check out rolls around, I fear they might have to pry my fingers from the balcony railing, as I will be holding on in hopes of never leaving.

The most obvious of reasons is of course the full service nature of the experience. You’re hungry? You dial a phone and say, ‘hi, I’m hungry I’d like you to bring me food.’ And voila, food is brought up to your room. You’re done eating, and presto, the food and more importantly, the dirty dishes disappear. You’re tired, the bed is clean, made and usually lined with way more pillows than any human needs. And of course, not only is bed then made for you, but they even come by in the evening and turn down the sheets for you, just in case this mere exercise is too much for you on holiday. Then there are the chocolates on your pillow. I mean, what is a better cap on the end of the day than chocolate. I suppose they could leave a bottle of whisky on your pillow and two Vicodin, but I’m sure that would make their insurance rates go sky high.

Hotels are also the most brilliant way to observe society (depending on where you are staying of course will dictate what part of society you will be taking in; for example, if your hotel is really a Motel, then you may have more hookers than let’s say lawyers. Then again, there is probably not such a huge difference between the two). Just merely sitting by the pool, you could see how people conduct themselves with other guests and staff, how they raise their children, what they choose to wear on a holiday – this can be very amusing – and of course the tensions that arise from traveling en famille. That can be even more amusing than the outfits. Then there is the in built class system – the staff tirelessly (and often thanklessly) looking after everyone; the ‘money’ guests as I like to call them – the ones that stay in the penthouse and are greeted around every corner as if they’re royalty. And of course the guests whose room faces the alley.

At the moment, our hotel is like a hotbed for families. There are children of every conceivable age absolutely everywhere. This can be great, more playmates for the King, and of course can also be an absolute headache, as not everyone raises their children with the same…ethos, shall we say. For example, I witnessed one exchange this morning in the café/shop downstairs that reminded me that for many, a holiday means a holiday from one’s senses. So this café serves take out coffee, pastries and the like, as well as gelato and a whole row of those bins for pick and mix candy. I’m thinking that the hotel is either trying to narcotize their guest’s children or are strategically trying to bilk even more money from mom and dad as they know the children will demand candy round the clock. So anyway, a Mother was there with her kids at 9am and each child had a bag of candy, and a handful of gummy worms hanging out of their mouths. She would meekly suggest they eat a banana, to wash down their gummy worms, and they of course told her right where to stuff her banana. Even the King knew she was in over her head.

Then there is the sheer civility of hotel life – some hotels that is; if you’re staying at some fleabag with a posse on a stag weekend, I’m thinking civility will not really come into play. Our hotel is an island of politeness. Around every corner is a staff member with a giant welcoming smile ready to greet you with a ‘have a nice day,’ ‘can I assist you with anything,’ or ‘wow, your son is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen in my entire life.’ Okay, fine, I made the last one up, but you can tell in their eyes that they are thinking it. I suppose that for some people this may all ring as disingenuous (Europeans cringe at the ‘have a nice day,’ factor. Go on admit it, you do), but if for one week, I can have every door held open for me, and have complete strangers ask me if they can assist me with absolutely anything before I can even anticipate what that thing is, I’m thinking sticking around is well in my favor.