I don’t know what’s happening. I just bought a plane ticket and I’m leaving for Belize in two weeks.
Yesterday the owner of my agency said a colleague could no longer take the trip, so the spot was open if anyone wanted it.
I watched as one advisor after another said they wished they could go, but couldn’t.
I looked at my calendar. Nothing there aside from a MILLION kids’ activities.
I reached out to our family childcare support. They were a go.
Now I needed to run it by Captain when he got home from work. I wrote on our white board on the fridge: “???BELIZE???” With that many question marks. As if I’d forget to talk about it.
I was on the fence. I just got home from Italy and I’m headed to the Swiss/Austrian Alps the beginning of December. I don’t want to burden my family too much.
Captain thought I should go.
That’s all I needed to hear!
Just when I thought my body was settling into winter-sweatsuit mode, we are back in a bikini, headed for the second largest barrier reef in the world and the best diving in the western hemisphere.
I will continue to shave my legs.
I am not a last minute type of person. I’m a planner. Go figure.
I have been shocked by how many clients book last minute trips. This is great for them and I’m very happy to do it.
My ideal time frame for planning trips for my own family is six months to over a year away. I had my eye on the Galápagos two years before we took the trip. And right now I’ve got my eye on Africa 2027.
I have never in my life booked a flight for myself two weeks before I leave.
Here I am. Ticketed. I just need to shave my legs and repack my freshly put away summer wardrobe.
I’m in excited disbelief that I’m leaving the country again so soon. I said to Captain,
“Who am I? I’m some new version of Jessica.”
“No! You’re the old Jessica!”
That’s right! I AM the old Jessica. Past Jessica’s passport was so full she had to send it away for more pages.
The main difference is that twenty-something-year-old Jessica did not have the word “luxury” associated with any part of her travels. Although she did as a child and she was luxury adjacent during her summer as a deckhand/stewardess on a yacht in the south of France.
Present, middle-aged Jessica has adapted well to the change.
I’m still, as Captain would say, rugged. I can carry my own luggage. But if someone wants to carry it for me, who am I to say no? And there’s nothing wrong with a chocolate on my pillow at night.
BB is not pleased that I’m peacing out again, but the promise of a Belizean stuffie is helping my case.
Are you thinking about somewhere warm? Maybe the Caribbean or maybe somewhere else nearby? Do you want adventure, culture, beach, jungle and amazing sea life?
Yes please!
I leave the day after Halloween. It’s daylight savings weekend. We gain an hour. My kids will be complete, post-Halloween trash and not my problem.
I’m home! Captain said it felt like I’d been gone a month.
It took me a full week to readjust.
I mostly readjusted the minute I made physical contact with my children, but it took me this long to sit down and write a blog post.
Two-hour pasta lunches with a bottomless glass of wine followed by three-hour dinners with a bottomless glass of wine is really not a sustainable lifestyle. But it was an amazing way to spend a couple weeks!
Sardinia is the second largest island in the Mediterranean just south of Corsica and west of Italy. It has a gorgeous coastline, stunning mountains, long lifespans and an ancient heritage of amazing food unique from mainland Italy.
I explored Sardinia with travel designers from Italy, Venezuela, Mexico, Argentina, Portugal, Germany, Ukraine, Russia and one from twenty minutes up the road from me.
Those countries, all in the same group, may make you pause. I did. They’re all amazing people and I was lucky to spend time with them.
I also feel lucky that I was well received. Americans are not the most beloved right now.
And I thought for sure I’d be the only Jew of the group “working” on Rosh Hashanah. I was nowhere near my temple, but I did join the virtual children’s service for a minute between meetings.
Lo and behold I was lucky enough to find out that my new friend from Venezuela is Jewish! A Jewish Venezuelan is not a combo I was expecting.
I was distracted by my news feed and our politics that lack basic human decency. It feels like everything is spiraling downwards. I kept trying to refocus: my bowl of pasta, my delicious espresso, the sexiest cooking class I’ve ever taken.
I mean that. I was looking decidedly not sexy, but our teacher, she was another story. It’s called pasta therapy:
At home I cook occasionally because we need to eat and because if I try to serve one more peanut butter and jelly sandwich there may be a mutiny.
But for me, being sexy and cooking never happen simultaneously.
As I fumbled through making fancy pasta shapes, I was definitely in the moment, so it may deserve its therapeutic claims.
Last year I traveled to Croatia for work, carry-on only. BIG MISTAKE. I left home without an ounce of room in my suitcase. I received so much free swag and people at home were waiting for things and I had NO ROOM.
I vowed not to make that mistake again. For Sardinia I checked a small bag and also had a small carry-on. Both were half empty in anticipation of lots of free goodies.
Clothing-wise I still only packed as much as I would’ve if I’d been traveling carry-on only. For two weeks I planned to rewear everything twice if not three times. As I am always happy to do.
If I can enjoy a month-and-a-half overland safari alternating between two shirts, then the amount of clothing I took for Sardinia was really overkill.
But it quickly felt inadequate. My previous travel style collided with my current travel style.
Not only were my new friends wearing new outfits everyday, they had a nice outfit for daytime touring (which I would’ve called nice enough for dinner) and then an even nicer outfit for our lovely dinners.
I was taking my daytime outfit, adding a sweater and earrings and calling it my new dinner outfit. I kept wishing I had taken a medium-sized suitcase.
After a phone call home bemoaning all my decisions, I headed to dinner wearing my favorite dress for the third time. One of the women exclaimed,
“I love your dress! Is it new?”
No! Not only is it four years old, but I’ve already worn it for two other dinners this week! Proof that no one is paying as much attention as you think they are and maybe my suitcase choice was ok after all.
I left home with an idea that I’d like to buy a new dress if at all possible. As the week went on, it started to seem like it might not be possible.
The days were relaxing in the sense that I was walking around beautiful Sardinia, eating amazing food and talking to wonderful people, but there was very little free time with which to shop.
Near the end of the first week, we checked into what would be my favorite resort of the trip. As we walked into the lobby, in the store window, there was a beachy, floor-length, pink and white dress that was calling to me.
I said “I’ll be back if I can!”
I got a free minute and I dashed into the store. I peered around. Nothing resembled that dress. I peered back out at the window and asked the shopkeeper,
“Is that dress for this store?”
“Yes! It’s our last one and it’s your size.”
How does she know my size? I give her a skeptical look. She adds,
“It’s a medium.”
Ooooh she’s good.
Next thing I know, the mannequin’s arms are on the ground and the dress is in my hands. As I began the checkout process the kind woman asks me,
“Do you have Global Blue?”
“What?” I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“For your tax refund?”
“Tax refund?”
She looks perplexed and I feel like an idiot.
So now I know that it’s possible to get a tax refund on purchases over a certain amount. In Italy it’s over €70. Every country has a different amount.
The shopkeeper is so incredulous she asks me,
“How come you’ve never used Global Blue before?”
“I guess I haven’t done that much shopping.”
The truth is I haven’t done much shopping at the price point required to receive refunds.
The woman shakes her head and admonishes me,
“Italy is very good for shopping.”
“Yes, I see that.”
My suitcase fit all my wonderful freebies: wine, liqueur, jewelry, reindeer-skin luggage tags, candles, chocolates, bags and I bought two stuffed flamingos for my children. Sardinia is known for its flamingos. I did not know this.
My exploration of Sardinia was followed by an intense few days of one-on-one meetings with luxury travel suppliers from all over the world. It was simultaneously exhausting and energizing. There are endless, amazing adventures to add to your list!
Now I’m home, I caught my breath, I emptied my small suitcase and I am packing it back up.
We’re off to NYC for RB’s 6th birthday!
Cala di VolpeI had this many one-on-one meetings with travel suppliers!
RB’s interpretation of ready for New York City. This is a very large suitcase relative to her doll’s size, so it is safe to say her doll overpacked.
The owner of my agency recommends at least one travel conference a year. I was accepted to one in Sardinia.
Before and after the conference, there are familiarization trips. I was accepted to one of those, too! Once I’m there, I might as well scope out the whole island.
I was worried that being gone for two weeks would be too long. Captain offered,
“How could you not do it?”
That’s right! How could I not? And without a second thought I confirmed everything.
Now that I see the calendar for the next two weeks, please wish my family luck.
Between my two children there are: 6 swim practices, 2 swim lessons, 2 artistic swim classes, 6 soccer practices, 4 Hebrew school classes, 2 drama kids classes, 2 curriculum nights, one day of school pictures, and a side of Rosh Hashanah.
Putting that in all in one sentence may have been a mistake. We sound like crazy people.
I swear it feels more manageable on a day-to-day basis. Although I’ve only been doing it for one week, and now it’s someone else’s problem.
Monday night I was headed into Boston for work, and Captain, BB, and RB were headed to RB’s soccer practice. I said,
“Don’t forget you need a soccer ball and two chairs.”
They left with three chairs and no soccer ball.
So that’s how I anticipate the next couple weeks may go.
The other morning I was sitting on the couch with my coffee, a hotel website open in front of me. RB snuggled up, saw my computer, and said,
“Again?!? I thought you retired.”
Just getting started.
After this Sardinia trip, I was accepted for a ski trip in Austria and Switzerland. Which brings me back to our recent visit to the ski store.
Thirteen years ago I met Captain skiing. We skied as much as possible. I invested in new ski boots. They were comfortable, performed well, and were a pretty white-turquoise color.
Ten years ago I got pregnant with BB. My feet grew. I went from a size 10 to a size 11. My feet never went back.
I needed all new shoes. Not the worst thing in the world, but I was loathe to spend $500 on a new pair of ski boots. Especially when at this point, with a new baby, I was lucky if I were skiing four days a season.
Each year when I squeezed my feet into my too-small boots, Captain would ask,
“Are you going to get a new pair?”
“Maybe, but doesn’t seem worth it.”
Then another pregnancy, so no skiing, then COVID, so more no skiing. Then back to skiing and good grief the boots are still SO SMALL. Maybe it’s time for new boots?
Nope. Last year we decided to save all of our money for the Galápagos and did not go skiing.
Skipping a year made me realize how much I miss skiing! Now here comes the 25/26 season, and we already have 14 ski days on the books. It is time for new boots.
At the end of August I booked two separate appointments: a daytime rental appointment for the kiddos and an evening, boot fitting for myself. I imagined returning to the store childless to try on boots in peace.
We got the kids sorted out. The ski-store guy asked me,
“You’re looking for new boots, too, right?”
“Yes, but I was thinking I’d come back later without them.” I waved my hand in the general direction of my children clomping around the store. The guy said,
“They seem fine. Do you want to try some on?”
“If you say so.”
My children, still in their ski boots, proceeded to stomp laps, then it was quiet, and all I could see was BB’s head popping up in the middle of one of those spinning, clothes racks.
If this is the sales guy’s idea of “they’re fine,” then so be it.
He measured my foot, and looked at the sizing on my old boot. He was shocked,
“They’re so small for you! How could you ski in these?!”
“I don’t know.”
As my toes luxuriated in the spaciousness of the new boots, I looked at my color options: black, gray, and maroon. I asked,
“Are there other color options?”
“I’m afraid not. You’re into unisex sizing now.”
Apparently white-turquoise is not a unisex color.
I settled for comfort and performance in a unisex black.
As I flexed into my new boots, the sales guy noticed my quads and said,
“What do you do to work out?”
“I walk.”
“You’re in this shape from just walking?”
At which point both kids pipe up from under the snowpants rack,
“She walks with a weighted vest!”
I do now.
I walk with a weighted vest, wear unisex ski boots, and explore Sardinia for two weeks without my family.
I’m some new version of the old me.
Except I’m going to check a bag, which is anathema to my being.
After a two-week sabbatical, the least I can do for my family is make sure my suitcase has enough room to bring home all the free, travel tchotchkes I accumulate at the conference.
They can thank me later.
C’est moi! Circa 1986 ish?Bye turquoise ski bootsTraveling carry-on only in Mali. Apparently not a unisex backpack
Croatia! It was not on my radar, but it should’ve been.
It’s a gorgeous country: beautiful mountains, medieval cities and the clearest turquoise water. Amazing food, wine, hotels and people. Perfect for relaxing and adventure!
And considering adventure is my speciality, you can trust me on this.
Here I am, alive, post white-water rafting.
The rafting trip I did is recommended for kids as young as eight. So while it was super fun and exciting, it was not a life-threatening adrenaline rush.
For this pre-season rafting trip it was more: I’d rather not capsize, not because I might die, but because, despite my wetsuit, I will be chilly.
RB, my youngest, may or may not have missed me. BB, my eight-year old said that a week without me was:
“Really fun and slightly depressing.”
For me the week was a dream come true with pangs of missing my family.
After years of solo travel, I thought wandering through the airport alone would be a non-event. Instead I felt oddly untethered.
I kept peering around as if maybe I’d forgotten a child somewhere.
There was no one to feed, clothe, attend to but myself. No butts to wipe aside from my own.
And even when I’m home, I know the bum-wiping days are numbered. Maybe one day I’ll look back in nostalgia at impatient RB, in downward dog, waddling with her naked butt in the air into the kitchen. All because I didn’t not go running to the bathroom the minute she hollered.
It was a luxurious week of 4 and 5-star hotel rooms all to myself. That combined with hiking, biking, rafting, boating, exploring, relaxing and eating, was a combination I highly recommend.
This is the hard work I’m doing.
So while Croatia would be a wonderful family trip, it would also make for a fabulous friend/mom trip, and leave the bum wiping behind.
Next work trip is in September to Sardinia. I’m sure I’ll be ready for another kid-free week by then.
And so we’re home. For now. I leave for Croatia in three weeks. By myself. For work.
I need to go: hiking, biking, kayaking, white-water rafting, oyster sampling, private yacht chartering, horseback riding, so that I’ll be able to advise you on the best Croatian trip possible.
I’m leaving my babies behind. These are the sacrifices I must make.
It is bittersweet. I would love to do this adventure with my whole family. Someday we can. BUT in the meantime, I’ll bring them back some candy.
RB loves candy. She’s been counting her future Easter eggs ever since her Halloween candy ran out months ago.
BB will not be so easily won over, but there must be a Croatian stuffy to be had.
As for Captain, my gift to him will be my return. He’s concerned I’m not going to survive white-water rafting. He insisted on travel insurance so there will be funds for the repatriation of my body.
The fact that I’ve gone white-water rafting before and in higher-class rapids, does not seem to reassure him.
I also went white-water boogie boarding and again, here I am.
I’m a luxury travel advisor, but when encouraged to pick a specialization, I created: “Luxury Adventure Specialist.”
Captain agreed that that was a good fit for me.
I’m not sure what it means, but it sure sounds like someone who stays in 5-star hotels and goes white-water rafting.
That can be you too. Or luxury hotels and yoga. Or luxury hotels and a safari. The adventure options are really endless.
I just applied for a trip that’s 5-star hotels and skiing. Keeping my adventure options open.
That required a two-minute video application. I emerged from my room after an hour of filming myself.
Feeling ridiculous and self-conscious I checked in with Captain,
“I finished my video application.”
“Oh you did?”
“You didn’t hear me?!”
“No! I thought you were in a meeting.”
A meeting with myself where I say the same thing over and over again, hoping somehow that the millionth try will be acceptable to whatever nebulous standard I’m holding myself to.
It is done and sent off. With any luck I’ll add Austria to my list of upcoming adventures, after Sardinia this September.
Good times with Jess and sometimes her family, but not always.
New Zealand: I’m middle left, very aliveWeee!!!Everything is fine
WHAT A TRIP! Several weeks ago, we left Boston for Quito, Ecuador. Our three hour layover in Miami ended up being a run from one end of the airport to the other to catch our next flight.
The kids were supposed to hang back with Captain as he hauled along our carryons and I was running ahead to catch the plane.
I’m not sure what I was planning to do when I caught the plane all by myself. Maybe I was headed to the Galapagos without my family? I don’t know. But I didn’t have to worry about it, because RB was right on my heels.
I told her,
“I’m going to run, you stay with Dad.”
“I can run too!”
And it’s true. She can run. I sighed. I’d probably spend more time arguing than just running. So I ran. She ran and BB, not to be left behind, ran too.
At some point BB started to get farther and farther behind. Then RB got a cramp and whined,
“Can you carry me?”
So we walked and we made it. Despite everyone wanting to stop at the Lego Store.
We spent two days in Quito, 10,000 feet above sea level and we reached 12,000 feet above sea level at the top of the Pichincha volcano. I may never know how much higher we’d have to go for RB to stop running off. She was the only one NOT out of breath.
She ran everywhere and was determined to be the leader. I was much more worried about breathing than keeping track of her.
She’s still with us.
We flew from Quito to Isla San Cristóbal in the Galápagos. See flight path map below to answer any questions about where the heck we were.
My kids may or may not have grasped it. At some point mid-trip they were surprised to learn we were swimming in the Pacific ocean.
I’m not sure how long I’d have to stay in the Galápagos to get used to sea lions being standard members of society. As in,
“Excuse me sea lion, thanks for letting me share your infrastructure.”
And after seeing the massive amount of pee that came out of one sea lion on a public street bench, I was hard pressed to sit down anywhere without overthinking it.
You don’t want to know how many sea lion photos I took. I will tell you I took a total of 2,600 photos and videos over the course of our two week trip. DON’T WORRY, I’ve culled it down to my most favorite 1,020.
Disembarking
Yes there were sharks. Yes we swam with them. Captain’s anxiety was momentarily mitigated when he was told that only baby sharks are in the warm, shallow water. Meanwhile at a shallow overlook RB shouted,
“That’s a big one!”
I missed it, but Captain was sure to tell me,
“It was at least five feet long. It was NOT a baby.”
Shark food headed in
Halfway through the trip I realized we weren’t going to need all 80 packages of Ritz cheese crackers I had packed. RB branched out. She ate: pineapple, assorted cookies, juice, spoonfuls of jam at breakfast and she liked fish! Especially the one featured below.
It was a giant, delicious, fried fish.
Now RB keeps asking me to make it for her. As in,
“Are you going to make me my favorite fish?”
TBD
For whatever reason, when I ordered octopus, no one even wanted to try it. So I didn’t have to share that.
We hiked, snorkeled, swam, ate, beached, boated, kayaked, relaxed, shopped AND slept. Some. I woke my family up early so many times, that by the end of the trip RB took herself to bed at 6pm and said,
“I need to go to sleep because you’re going to be waking me up to go on a boat.”
Yes. Yes I am.
After Isla San Cristóbal we took the public ferry to Isla Santa Cruz. It is recommended to take sea sickness medication. I popped one pill first thing in the morning because for the whole trip up until this point, one pill per day made me feel fine.
It should be noted that the Dramamine fine print says take one OR TWO tablets per day. This public ferry ride was a two tablet day. I will NOT make that mistake again.
The good news is BB took one pill and felt great the whole time. When we arrived, she climbed off of my lap, I threw out my vomit bag and she let out a relaxed sigh,
“Ah, that was a nice power nap.”
We journeyed into the highlands to see the mythical giant tortoises. We lucked out and saw two mating. SLOWLY. Thrust. Rest. Thrust. Rest. Rest. Turns out it takes about 1.5 hours.
If you’re going to live to 200, what’s the rush?
Slow and steady
Plus they spend no time taking care of their progeny. They lay their eggs and godspeed to those tiny, baby tortoises.
Meanwhile the sea lions are nursing their young until they’re three years old. They reach maturity at 4-5 years so a 3-year-old sea lion is just about full grown.
The pups are almost as big as their amazingly accommodating moms. It would be like if we nursed our 12-year-olds.
That or cart around several industrial size boxes of ritz crackers. I slowly downsized and as we said goodbye to each hotel, we left a trail of unopened cracker packages.
Plus I needed somewhere to put souvenirs. Everyone in my family wanted to know,
“What are you going to do with that: sea lion, tortoise, sea turtle, blue footed booby, you name it, I bought it?”
I’m going to do nothing with them except add them to my tchotchke collection. I will feel a warm glow of happiness every time I make eye contact with my Galápagos-engraved, stainless steel, sea lion, who may or may not still be nursing.
Meanwhile we came home with 3 stuffed tortoises, 1 stuffed penguin, 1 stuffed sea lion, 1 stuffed blue footed booby backpack and 1 stuffed blue footed booby key chain. All for my children.
And goodness knows what they’re going to do with all those.
The penguin and sea lion were last minute airport purchases. They NEEDED them so badly that they spent their own money to get them. This is what happens when flights are delayed.
At which point there was ZERO room left in our luggage so we added the stuffies to our carry-on juggling show.
On our second to last day we started our journey home from Isla Isabela, with all of our luggage. It went as follows and I’m NOT exaggerating:
Taxi pick-up truck
Water taxi
Ferry to Santa Cruz – 2 hours
Water taxi
3 block walk with luggage because there was a giant parade celebrating the Galápagos. I’m all for it.
Taxi pick-up trucks – 40 minutes (Put kids in separate pick-up truck from me, great decision.)
Ferry to Baltra – 10 minutes
Shuttle bus
Plane from Baltra to Quito – 3.5 hours
Van to hotel (slept and repeated the next day.) (Well just repeated the plane part to get from Quito to home via Miami.) (We had time for the Lego store.)
Back home BB was excited to add photo captions to share with her class. On a tortoise photo she said,
“How about I write that Galápagos means tortoise?”
“It does?”
BB looked at me like I was crazy. She nodded slowly,
“It does.”
“How do you know that?”
“I was paying attention.”
The internet confirmed: “The word “Galápagos” comes from the Spanish word galapago, which means “tortoise” or “saddle”. The islands are named after the giant tortoises that live there.”
Sounds like an amazing place.
It was a dream-come-true trip and I’m so happy I was able to do it with my babies. I’m also so happy they’re back in school. Home sweet home.
Mid epic journey homeIt is the rainy seasonIsland taxi! See your luxury travel architect for more carseat safety tips
T-minus a few days until we leave for Ecuador and the Galápagos! I’ve only been daydreaming about going there for the last 30 years.
We’re going carry-on only aside from one checked bag with snorkel gear and life vests.
I am not taking RB’s music machine that has previously been carted around to Disney World, Alaska, Canada, and every corner of New England. It’s the size and weight of a small child. Plus no one but RB wants to hear a lullaby medley blasted at 3am.
The dreaded music machine in action at Disney
The dilemma has always been, what if she can’t sleep?
There are a couple things that make me feel ok about this: We’ve been practicing sleeping at home without it and she will be in a different hotel room than me.
You’re right, mainly the different hotel room part.
Meanwhile at home my bedroom is not known for its minimalism and right now, as it serves as the staging area for our trip, it looks like an out of control return center.
It is one big pile of chargers, battery packs, water purifier, water bottles, backpacks, snorkel masks, snacks, layers, go pro, go pro accessories, toiletries, hiking sandals, books, toys, hats, money, iPads and altitude sickness medication (which has very similar side affects as altitude sickness).
The kids only get their iPads for LONG trips or school work. So RB hasn’t had her hands on hers since this past summer.
RB might end up living on Ritz cheese crackers. She asked me,
“Are you taking my breakfast cereal and my dinner cereal along?”
There are different cereals for each meal. I give her the bad news,
“No. I’m taking cheese crackers and that’s it.”
No music machine and no cereal. I will let you know if I live to regret these choices.
First stop is a few days in Quito, Ecuador, 9,350 feet above sea level. Then eleven days island hopping for snorkeling, hiking, exploring, relaxing, sleeping without my children.
I don’t want to count my good times before they happen. I do feel desperate to travel the world with my kiddos, but no one needs to spend every second with them.
Although Captain might. He has more concerns than I realized. He asks,
“So there are lots of seals?”
“Yes! Babies too! They might swim with us!”
I’m glad he’s getting excited. Or maybe I have enough excitement for both of us. He asks,
“And there are sharks?”
“Yes! 32 species!”
“And RB is snorkeling?”
“Yes!”
“Doesn’t she look like a baby seal?”
Oh. I see where this is going. I agree, she looks delicious.
If RB looks like a baby seal, then Captain is just going to have to grow out his whiskers and play the part of protective papa seal if he wants. Because if we see a hammerhead shark, I’m not reaching for RB, I’m reaching for my go pro.
BB is all in. She has a reading log for school and last week it looked like this:
Tuesday: Galápagos Itinerary
Wednesday: Galápagos Itinerary
Thursday: Galápagos Itinerary
BB yells to me from the bathroom,
“This itinerary is long!”
It is! It’s going to be an action packed two weeks.
I was relieved to hear RB say,
“I’m so excited for the Galápagos too!”
“You are?!” I’m so excited and even more excited now that everyone else is excited. RB adds,
“I’m so excited to get my iPad on the airplane!”
“Oh.”
“I get my iPad on the plane right?”
Yes. Yes you do my little baby seal.
And it goes without saying, but I am going to say it. If you’re looking for a trip to the Galápagos, I’ll be ready to help you plan it. Might I recommend taking a small child along to distract the sharks?
I won’t be looking quite as sexy this time around. I was much younger here.
Bonjour mes amis! I started work in September and I wouldn’t say I’m coming up for air, but I am prioritizing writing today.
My post-election workout vibe has been vengeance cardio, but my post-election writing vibe is: I’M SO EXCITED TO TELL YOU ABOUT MY NEW JOB!
Toddler Jessica promised to be a hair dresser. Girlhood Jessica swore she was going to be a prima ballerina. Teenage Jessica realized that was not to be and floundered for new ideas.
College Jessica zeroed in on writing. Post-college Jessica realized she could write AND travel. Writing, traveling Jessica realized working on a yacht was not for the faint of heart and recommitted to bartending to fund her writing/traveling habit.
Writing/traveling/bartending Jessica met Captain. Thirty-year-old Jessica rediscovered how she’d rather die than be in an office.
Then I got knocked up.
The idea to stay home with our kids was always grounded in the idea that someday, I would also do something else. TBD.
I spent all of last year thinking about what TBD might be. In a pinch I’d go back to bartending, but I wracked my brain for other ideas.
I figured I might as well define what my dream job would be. That didn’t really get me anywhere. So then I defined the qualities that my dream job would have: work from home and flexible hours.
My morning yoga and zumba classes feel non-negotiable. For me they are the equivalent to going to therapy.
RB requires drop-off and pick-up this year and both kids need an afternoon chauffeur, which I’d like to be here for. We have a secondary chauffeur, but he’s not as flexible.
Travel agent was something that kept popping into my head. I’ve thought about it on and off for years. I wrote it off as a dying industry.
Turns out people still use them. Captain pointed out,
“Our neighbors are all very capable of mowing their lawns, but they don’t want to.”
So that’s it. People are busy, but they want to take trips. I can help.
I started to reconsider it a year ago. Didn’t see a solid way forward. I was still all talk.
And so I talked on the beach to my dear friend. Who said,
“My friend has her own travel agency.”
Hmmm? Tell me more. Can I talk to her? So it began.
And I know what you’re thinking,
“Aha! Jess is a travel agent.”
Nope. I’m a luxury travel advisor. Advisor is the new agent. And just yesterday I was introduced as a Travel Designer. So there’s that too. As well as Travel Consultant.
Agent/Advisor/Designer/Consultant/woman for hire, they all have one thing in common: TRAVEL! Which I love, which I’m good at and which, I’m somewhat surprised to find out, I LOVE planning for other people.
I’ve been dreaming about Mexico, Scandinavia, Greece, PARIS! All the places my clients are bound for. I’m so EXCITED for them.
That part of it has really been a surprise. I had no idea I’d like planning other people’s trips as much as I do.
PLUS I’m doing it all from my couch, in my jammies, with my coffee, still going to exercise classes, still dragging my kiddos around. Feels somewhat miraculous.
Never mind the subsidized trips I’m eligible for. Which may be worth it all on their own. The work trips would be solo travel, which is how this journey all began. So I’ll be getting back to my roots, minus the overstuffed backpack full of varying degrees of unwashed laundry.
It’s the final days of school and countdown to beach camp.
My two campers are ready. We’re stocked up on sunscreen, bathing suits and snacks. We’ve added a sloth float to our pile of beach gear because that’s both of my children’s favorite animal.
BB has long loved the sloth for whatever usual reasons people pick favorite animals. Then in the car the other day RB told me,
“The sloth is my favorite animal.”
“Really?? Since when?”
“Since it was BB’s favorite.”
Right.
In 2025 we’re headed to the Galapagos. This has been a bucket-list trip for me since elementary school when they showed us the underwater robots exploring there.
Fifteen years ago as I roamed around South America I counted my dollars. I could travel South America for four months or I could use the same money for one week in the Galapagos.
I chose four months, but held out hope that someday I’d be back. And as we continue to destroy our planet, it seems like the sooner the better for this trip.
It will be in honor of Captain and my ten-year-wedding anniversary. Yes we’re bringing the kids.
There are no sloths in the Galapagos, but there ARE sloths in the Ecuadorian rainforest. I hadn’t planned on going there in addition to the Galapagos, but considering we’ll only be a few hours away when we fly in to Quito I contemplated it. I asked our Ecuadorian travel agent. She told me,
“I’ve been working in tourism and visiting the rainforest for ten years. I have only ever seen a sloth in the wild once.”
Ok. Nix that. Maybe my children would like to consider blue footed boobies as their new favorite animal. I’m sure there’s a corresponding beach float.
RB has an extra week of school that BB doesn’t have. The same thing happened last year and I pulled RB out early to get to the beach. As much as I want to be in my lounge chair with a book, I’m having a hard time figuring out why I would miss out on several days of RB being in school.
Once BOTH kids are out of school, I’ll be in my lounge chair, with my book, counting the paragraphs before they start World War III.
No matter what we do, they will find something to fight about. But the total and complete hopelessness of it was brought home to me a couple weeks ago.
We were at a playground covered with standard-issue wood chips. Thousands and thousands of wood chips. Not as many as grains of sand on the beach, but close enough.
I was head down in my book. I heard some screeching. I kept my head down. The shouting escalated. I peered over the top of my book. Then a blood-curdling yell from one of my beloved children.
I called them over. BB thrust her hand at me. In her palm was one of the MANY wood chips. RB whined,
“BB won’t share her wood chip!”
I looked at BB. She shrugged.
I told RB,
“Go find another wood chip.”
“NOOOOOO I want THAT one.”
I asked BB,
“Can you share that wood chip?”
“But I’m the one who found the most perfect wood chip.”
Of course.
All BB would have to do is declare any other one of the thousands of wood chips “the most perfect wood chip” and RB would want that one. But how to telepathically relay this?
I tell them,
“You have one more chance to figure this out.”
You don’t need me to tell you they did NOT figure it out. I took the wood chip and put it in my pocket. They both lost their minds.
I told them,
“We can leave or you can go play.”
They went to play.
If you’re wondering what happened to “the most perfect wood chip” that everyone forgot about. It is well laundered and living its best life indistinguishable from all the other treasures in my yard.
Here’s to finding the most perfect grain of sand and keeping it all for myself.
When Captain and I were whisking away on ski weekends with a bag thrown over our shoulders, I day dreamed about skiing with our future children.
Somehow I forgot to daydream about the impossibly overloaded luggage carts, overstuffed car, and children capable of putting everything on themselves when asked by their ski instructors, but capable of nothing when they see me.
I didn’t know that for ski trips each child would require two stuffies in addition to their lovie, plus RB’s huge music machine that is meant to attach to a crib, which we no longer need.
As our luggage cart obstructed the lobby, I took stock of the next two luggage carts. That family wasn’t traveling light either. They had a snoo bassinet and a full-size high chair.
We don’t need a high chair, so there’s room for extra stuffies.
This does include food for the week. Plus 3 ski jackets for me. I own them, so if not now, then when?
This was a miracle year. It is the first year we all skied together the four of us. We rode the lift together and went down fun, blue-square trails. Not quite at the speed I would choose, but getting there.
The second best part after skiing was the outdoor hot tub/pool situation.
Skiing is how Captain and I met, and sitting in the hot tub together is a little bit of heaven. I sipped my beer and gazed at our children in the pool. I said to Captain,
“Can you believe this is how it started and now look at us?”
“Not an entirely unpredictable trajectory.”
Right.
I felt the same way after giving birth to BB. It was UNBELIEVABLE, yet millions of people have been giving birth for millions of years.
We’re just one of many couples falling in love in a hot tub and returning to it with the consequences.
My joy was splashed away the minute our children took to deep-sea swimming in the hot tub. There are age rules for hot tubs, but I don’t think that’s necessary. The only rule should be:
“Do you need goggles for the hot tub?”
“Yes?”
“YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED.”
And parents aren’t allowed in ski school. When I say it was amazing to ski together the four of us, it was amazing to ski together from 2pm-3pm.
And it was amazing to ski harder and faster with Captain the rest of the time.
I have perfected getting RB on the chairlift. It only took one time with her dangling down to make sure that didn’t happen again.
This is all thanks to wonderful instruction from ski school.
As I was putting BB to bed, she snuggled up to me and said,
“I’m lucky you’re my mama.”
After I was done melting, I asked,
“I’m lucky! What made you say that?”
“You’re not a mean ski instructor.”
“You had a mean ski instructor?!!”
“NO! The ski instructors are so nice. But some kids have to go from their really nice ski instructors to their mean, ski-instructor parents. I hear them yelling at their kids. And you just say, ‘Lead the way!'”
This is one of the very good reasons we pay for ski school. I can keep the mean, ski-instructor parent dormant inside me.
Of course the minute BB saw RB skiing, she didn’t attempt to hold her tongue. BB yelled,
“Turn RB! Lean forward. You have to stay forward!”
At which point RB told me,
“My tummy hurts, I need to go potty NOW.”
RB and I zipped down the mountain faster than BB would ever want to go. RB skied straight, leaned back, took full advantage of her wedge and we made it to the bathroom. We’ve got the skills we need.
My moment of truth is almost here. We leave for Alaska in 4 days and I’ve been trying to come to peace with the packing for months now.
I traveled around the world carry-on only. I’m very happy to wear the same shirt everyday until the weather changes or it wears out. Yes I washed it. Things can dry overnight, or when it was hot enough, things dried right on my body.
Turns out when I returned home a couple years later, I didn’t smell great, but that was news to me.
Now we’re headed to Alaska and in addition to our carry-on allotment we have a giant checked bag and a carseat.
I’ve been whittling away at our packing. BB was desperate to take a skort. I nixed that. That’s two items of clothing functioning as one and it might not even be warm enough to wear it.
Then there are the non-negotiable items: the giant, crib-music player that RB turns on multiple times a night. It’s a necessity. Anything related to sleep takes top priority. But it gives me the heebie jeebies. I’m devoting suitcase space to a 3d lullaby machine, that could’ve been used for a gazillion skorts or just less stuff.
BB has 2 security bunnies and her large fleece security blanket. Who gets attached to a large fleece blanket? Another non-travel friendly, sleep necessity.
We’re moving towns every few nights, so the less we have, the easier it’ll be. In theory.
Our biggest item is the travel crib. I’ve gone in circles about this. A few of the places I really want to stay don’t provide cribs. So there were several options: stay somewhere else, RB sleeps in a bed or on the floor or take a crib.
If we’re doing this, I’m staying at my top places. I contemplate a free-range RB and a sun setting at 11pm. It sounds disastrous.
They sell black-out shades that cover an entire pack ‘n play, like you’d cover a bird in a cage. GOODNIGHT!
I’m sold. The travel crib fits in our biggest roller, with room for snacks.
I got the last room at one of my top picks, a place that hangs out over Seward Harbour. The woman who runs the place and I are on a texting basis. That’s how small some of these places are I guess?
She says,
“I only have a second floor room, but I don’t like to put kids up there.”
“Why not?”
“I was sitting in my office and I saw feet dangling. A kid was hanging off of the balcony and when I went up there, the parents kind of just shrugged and said they knew.”
I assure her my children will not be hanging off of the balcony. THIS IS WHY I NEED A CRIB.
Years ago I met families backpacking with their kids and that’s always been my dream. Someday I thought, maybe I’d have a family I could do that with.
Now I have my family and we’re taking six backpacks, three rolling carry-ons, one large checked roller, one car seat and one umbrella stroller.
Good Times with Jess 