Last year Gina and I embarked on what felt like a bold new chapter for us — a full-scale family invasion of Cancun with both families and the grandkids at the Fairmont Mayakoba. Honestly, we packed emotional body armor expecting tactical grandchild wrangling in a foreign country far from home. When Mark and Mia were toddlers we would never have attempted something like this… although in hindsight, the fact that neither of them could walk back then might actually have made things easier. This time we arrived armed with cribs, baby monitors, snacks, backup snacks, and emergency snacks. How hard could it be? Apparently not that hard — modern parents travel with babies like it’s a competitive sport. The resort was full of millennials calmly dining with infants at restaurants and beaches while Gina and I watched in amazement, wondering when parenting evolved into an Olympic event. The trip turned out so well that we immediately decided to run it back this year.

Unlike last year — when we all scattered into separate beachfront casitas — we upgraded to one of the three-bedroom ground-floor residences at Fairmont Heritage Place Mayakoba, which felt less like a hotel and more like someone loaned us a luxury home hidden in the mangroves. Three full bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, a real kitchen, giant living space, and sliding doors opening to our private pool made life dramatically easier. Morning coffee by the pool, kids swimming while dinner cooked, easy naps just steps away — suddenly grandparenting felt efficient. Being able to cook, snack, and regroup without packing up the entire caravan was a massive improvement. With both parents nearby, the grandkids were outnumbered for once.

River and Miles became instant roommates and co-conspirators. River — who at eighteen months has the physical presence of a small linebacker — spent the week learning Basket Pickleball, a sport I invented consisting of throwing a pickleball into a salad bowl on the ground. He became completely addicted. Every morning greeting began with a hug followed immediately by the word “Ball.” That’s currently about 50% of his vocabulary, the other 50% being “No,” which he deploys with remarkable nuance. Sometimes it means absolutely not. Other times it means I’m terrified but also deeply interested, please hand it to me immediately. We are clearly in for a wild ride. I’m predicting future athlete… and fisherman.

Miles, on the other hand, is River’s philosophical opposite — the chillest human I’ve ever encountered. Thoughtful, observant, and possessing an astonishing ability to slowly consume his body weight in food without catastrophic diaper consequences (unlike his father Mark, who treated diapers as performance art). Miles eats with focus and purpose. We genuinely wondered if babies could overeat because he never showed signs of stopping — only disappointment when meals ended. I had always read that children self-regulate food intake. Miles appears determined to personally challenge that theory.

 

One morning we woke to discover the kitchen had been professionally looted. Turns out Mayakoba raccoons have apparently earned engineering degrees and know how to test sliding doors. I didn’t believe it until I watched two of them attempt a home invasion while I was watching TV. The wildlife there is unreal — exotic birds, crocodiles, spider monkeys, coati wandering around like a luxury petting zoo. The canals were still loaded with tarpon, and after confirming with a boat captain that “no fishing” mostly meant don’t harvest dinner commercially, I briefly considered hooking one from the balcony purely for scientific research. Family duties prevailed, and the tarpon live to see another year.

 

Mark and I brought our clubs to finally play El Camaleón, the stunning jungle-to-ocean course we had watched the LPGA struggle through the year before. I had spent a month confidently practicing the course on my simulator — strategy dialed in — until Mark casually informed me we would be playing the white tees instead of the women’s tees I’d been dominating at home. Reality arrived immediately. Triple bogey on hole one. Wind, uneven lies, real bunkers, and something called consequences quickly reminded me that simulators are fantastic teachers but terrible liars. I ground out a 92 after a memorable cenote sand-trap incident while Mark calmly posted a 79 and impressed me yet again — not just with his game, but with how gracious and respectful he is with everyone he meets. Playing golf with your son as an adult is a different kind of joy. I already look forward to the day Miles joins us.

The round confirmed a hard truth: no simulator fully prepares you for real golf. Indoor golf trains mechanics; outdoor golf tests adaptability. Wind, terrain, grass, nerves, elevation, and one-ball pressure turn golf into an environmental survival exercise. There’s no reset button on a real course — just humility and another swing.

Meanwhile Gina, Mia, Phoebe, and Ryan wisely chose spa day while Mark and I specialized in preventing grandchildren from attempting to ride raccoons. Grandparenting, I’ve learned, is a blend of affection, vigilance, and light cardio.

The week was full of incredible food, laughter, and the realization that family vacations evolve as the boys grow more mobile and curious. Each year changes the rhythm. Maybe next year a couple daughters will join us — a grandfather can hope.

During our stay there was a brief U.S. advisory recommending shelter-in-place precautions following a major Mexican military operation against cartel leadership that triggered unrest in parts of the country. Cancun itself was not under attack, and inside Mayakoba — a gated luxury enclave about 30–45 minutes south of the airport — we felt extremely secure. The resort is essentially a self-contained world of mangroves, canals, white-sand beaches, championship golf, and world-class hotels woven into nature — sometimes called the “Venice of the Caribbean.” We noticed extra checkpoints leaving Mexico and distant smoke on the horizon, reminders that real life exists beyond paradise.

Departure brought one final adventure when Global Entry lines were disrupted due to the government shutdown, but the Mobile Passport Control app saved the day, letting us bypass massive customs lines. Highly recommended.

All in all, it was another unforgettable week. As the boys grow, the experience keeps changing — and somehow keeps getting better. Same place next year. Maybe more “ball.”