When you are a father, you must constantly compete for your wife's affections. You compete with your children, your bank account, your house, the time of the month and often, the time of day. One of the toughest competitors is Mr. Virus. Mr. Virus is a friend that your kids are ALWAYS bringing home from school (Motto: The Most Efficient Way to Spread Disease!) And the real problem is that he does not just visit one of your kids and leave. By contrast, he is a social little fellow and must make his rounds from one child to the next. He does this by means of the "Nostril Express". Your average virus knows that the best way to get from Point A to Point The Next Kid is by hopping into the nasal cavity and waiting for the host to start mining for Booger Nuggets.

With Mr. Virus pulling overtime, I can guarantee that there will be nights when ALL of your children are awake. This will not affect you if you are a sleeping guy; you will have already trained yourself to block out that sort of silliness. However, if you are a guy who is attempting to increase the level of "friskatude" in your home, you have a problem. There is no guy on the planet who is so smooth that he can put The Moves on his wife while the children that she carried around in her body for nine months (not all at the same time) (usually) are noisily hacking up a lung. It's like women can't concentrate, or something. You can even try to pull out the "I.L.Y." card but it will do you no good. Although it should sound like this: "You know honey, I Love You!"(SWOON), it actually goes something like this when the kids are sick:
"You know (hack) I really (hack, hack, bark) I really (hack bark "Mommy!") Love You. Honey?.... Honey?"

So the goal is to get your wife as far away from the distractions as possible. (NOTE TO NEW DADS: DO NOT DO THIS WITHOUT FIRST GETTING A BABYSITTER).
Fortunately for me, I have a friend named Mark. Mark is a Big Wig at a Golf Resort called Sawmill Creek. Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking: "Golf? Thrice, you are as interested in golf as Mother Teresa was in Mutual Funds." And you are right. However, I was focussing more on the "Resort" part of "Golf Resort".
"You need a little vacation," he said. "Why not spend the night in our Honeymoon Suite?"
"You mean the Honeymoon Suite at Sawmill Creek, that place with superb meals, elegant surroundings and beautiful rooms? The place with the motto, "Increasing your odds for lovin', the longer you are here!" It's not something that REALLY interests me, my friend, but to avoid being rude, I'll accept."
After an incredible dinner of prime rib, chicken breast and scalloped potatoes with chocolate chip banana cake for dessert, we retired to our room.
"Wow, honey! This room is so beautiful that I'm totally forgetting how sick our kids are."
My spirits continued to pick up. Victory over Mr. Virus seemed imminent.
The Honeymoon Suite consisted of a whirlpool tub that could easily hold... well, more people than we needed. So could the corner shower in the bathroom. And the King-Sized four poster bed? Let me just say things were finally going my way! What could possibly go wrong?
I have since learned never to ask that question.
Being the smooth guy that I am, I took my time, waiting until I thought the moment was right before I made my move. Unfortunately, someone else had beat me to it. That's right. All those late nights being up with the kids and Mr.Virus finally took its toll on my bride.
"Honey, I hope you've enjoyed yourself this evening."
"Oh, I did! (cough)"
"And I just wanted to say that I Love You."
"Thanks (cough) darling. I (hack) love you (hack) too!"
"Um, are you okay?"
"(cough cough) I'm fine! (hack)"
The next day someone asked me how the Honeymoon Trip went. I tried to save face after losing to my toughest competitor.
"I will never forget it. Honestly, she didn't let me get a wink of sleep all night!"