Activities

St. Augustine Alligator Farm (Lauren Keenan) [enlarge photo]

• Fountain of Youth 11 Magnolia Ave., St. Augustine, 800/356-8222, fountainofyouthflorida.com, $7, $4 kids
• St. Augustine Alligator Farm 999 Anastasia Blvd., 904/824-3337, alligatorfarm.com, $20, $11 kids
• Castillo de San Marcos St. Augustine, 904/829-6506, nps.gov/casa, $6, kids free

DAY 3
"Have you seen any ghosts yet?" a man sweeping across from our hotel asks Will. Jessica quickly says that the man is just being silly. "Oh, no," responds the man, who clearly either doesn't have kids or is a total sadist. "They're out there. You just have to keep your eyes open."

I jerk Will's hand and we continue on down St. George Street to eat breakfast at the Bunnery Bakery & Café, which we'd passed--or, to be honest, drooled in front of--the day before. After eggs, pancakes, and French toast, I order a cinnamon roll to go, which comes with its own little container of icing.

Even though our children aren't old enough to take part in most of the interactive programs at Marineland, the park is worth a visit. At the dolphin preserve, we watch as grammar-school-age kids hold canvases over the pool and tell the trainers which color they'd like next. The dolphins, with brushes in their mouths, spin and nod to produce artwork that the kids can keep as a memento.

We drive through pouring rain alongside the seemingly never-ending stretch of grandstands of the Daytona Inter­national Speedway before pulling up to the Daytona 500 Experience, an exhibit dedicated to auto racing. Will's shouts of "Wow!" and "Lookit!" draw stares from a family reverently viewing a Daytona 500 highlight reel. Our admission includes a 3-D IMAX movie, and it's a great--if rather loud--spectacle. Will, in goofy 3-D glasses, gropes the air in a fruitless attempt to touch the driver hovering in front of him. I come away with a deep respect for pit crews.

After a few nights of the whole family's sharing a room, Jessica and I are ready for our two-bedroom condo at Atlantic Plaza in New Smyrna Beach, a low-key town south of Daytona. We head directly to the beach. The waves are nice and small, and the water remains shallow hundreds of feet from the shoreline.

We wind up at the Old Flagler House for dinner, where a sunburned, grizzled crew is drinking under a purple-and-aqua awning. The place evidently turns rowdy once the sun goes down (a sign by the back door says "Shoes & shirts required, bras & panties optional"), but for now we have the front room to ourselves. The steel-drum music coming from the speakers inspires Jessica to order a piña colada. The food is standard bar fare--the crab cakes are acceptable at best--but our waitress couldn't be nicer, tickling and cooing at Owen and supplying Will with sheets of paper and a bunch of crayons.

Lodging