Remember when Spring Break meant parties, beaches and bikinis?

We all have college memories–albeit blurry—of wild nights on the beaches or the slopes. I am probably not alone when I say, I’m grateful I made it through those vacations in one piece. The fact that I survived Spring Break 1988 is a freakin’ miracle! Let’s leave it at that.

But Spring Break survival doesn’t get any easier when we have kids.

Fast-forward 20 years…
We are off to visit family in Florida. After much chaos we are finally seated on the plane. Jack (age 4) is fine on planes; he watches Thomas the Tank Engine endlessly and he is happy. Ava (age 2) just wants to nap. However, Ava can’t nap—anywhere but her crib.

Somewhere over Washington DC, I lay her down kicking and screaming on the floor hoping to prevent the large man in front of us from having a coronary. Not because of Ava’s surprisingly strong feet, but because his wife kept yelling at him to shut up and feel sorry for me.

He didn’t feel sorry for me. Neither did the kind woman who offered Ava a lollipop just to have it thrown right back in her face. My sweet girl became a demon on that flight. United Airlines had a picture of us in their office for years to come. I am convinced. Which was fine, because we didn’t want to travel with our kids for a LONG time after that!

We became big fans of the Staycation.

We learned to roller skate, paint pottery and bake cupcakes. We watched black & white movies and played monopoly. There is something so nice about not rushing around. Lounging on the floor, laughing at home with the kids is genuinely relaxing.

Now that our kids are older, we do take one vacation a year to a nice warm beach.

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