Last fall my husband and I threw financial caution to the wind and stuck to a plan we made on our honeymoon: we would book an indulgent 10th anniversary trip to Hawaii and renew our vows at sunset.
Unlike our honeymoon trip, we would now have our four-year old daughter with us and for that, we couldn't feel more blessed. We knew all that we had gone through to become parents, eventually adopting a three-day old baby girl when we were in our late 40s. Now in our 50s, we felt strongly: there was a milestone anniversary to celebrate, yes, but also a family.
Maya literally squealed when we asked her to be our flower girl. She became obsessed with the details of what she would wear, about how flower girls walked and dropped petals, and where she would stand during the ceremony. I nervously pictured her growing bored after her big entrance and taking off to find seashells mid-ceremony.
Worries like that are typical for me. I anticipate problems and obsess over plans and details of a trip. This time was no exception. Should we book a hotel or a rental home? Which island should we pick? Did we want someone to officiate or something less formal? Who would we invite? And what in the world would I wear to feel special in this sandy, humid setting?
During past Hawaii trips, one thing went utterly wrong every visit, in spite of my efforts. Thankfully, this trip went utterly right. The rental house, the dining, the views, and ocean swims were wonderful. We were joined by an intimate group of friends who made the big day meaningful in countless ways. We even had a picture perfect sunset during our ceremony.
But this day was most special for all the simple, unplanned reasons.
It was about my husband and I feeling so happy that suddenly plans weren't so important. We made spontaneous choices about the beach, where we would stand, the vows that we would say, the restaurant where we would celebrate.
It was about watching the joy and pride on my daughter's face as she took a comically long time executing her flower girl role. Who cared that she took forever to reach us? The memory of her methodically dropping exactly two petals with each measured step still makes me smile.
It was about exchanging the ceremonial anniversary kiss with my husband, only to be nearly tackled by our charging daughter who embraced us both, shouting "group hug!"
It was about our local Hawaiian friend teaching us how to say "aloha au la 'oe" to each other, even though we already knew we loved each other without words.
Coming back from this vacation was hard. Things returned all too quickly to the routine of daily life. But this photo of us from that special day holds a place of honor in our home. And every now and then, my daughter comes up to us and says "Mommy? Daddy? Aloha au la 'oe!" We say the same to Maya. Somehow it means even more back home.
What approaches do you take to ensure your vacations are the source of happy memories?
Diana Dull Akers is a Shine Parenting Guru, mom and sociologist who is trying very hard not to design a plan for being more spontaneous with her family.
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