I Found Myself in Florida

For spring break this year, we went to Destin, Florida. Honestly, I don’t remember exactly how we landed on Destin. I do know our oldest didn’t want to go anywhere “lame,” which leaves a lot open to interpretation. I, on the other hand, would have been happy going anywhere—so long as it wasn’t our local Target or, on the rare occasion, the grocery store.

Here’s what you need to know about me and travel: I want to go anywhere but here, desperately, yet I don’t want to plan it. Flight, directions, hotel, condo, rental car… it’s all painful. So I passed the planning to my husband, because my delegation skills far outshine my vacation-planning skills.

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He found us a great condo right on the ocean. We made the arrangements, sent our beloved puppy to Mamie and Papa’s for his own little vacation, and hopped on a plane—heading south to escape the Midwest for six glorious days.

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We flew into New Orleans, about four hours from Destin. Some people might find that annoying, but travel nerd Kari was giddy—after all, we were heading to places none of us had ever seen before. Suddenly, the vacation became an adventure: how much could we explore in the time we had?

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New Orleans was the first on our little checklist to explore. I had done some research before we flew down and knew that there were certain parts of the city I wanted the girls to experience:

• the garden district
• bourbon street/french quarter (any or all of it/ depending on how much time we had)
• get a beignet and a café au lait
• see the above ground graves in the cemetery
• see a swamp

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Several people and websites told me that the French Quarter isn’t really worth seeing in New Orleans, but I don’t take travel advice from anyone, and neither should you. So we left the airport, plugged “French Quarter” into the GPS, and arrived about fifteen minutes later. I’m so glad we did.

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On the way through, we passed a neighborhood still marked by poverty—people sleeping on mattresses under overpasses, others resting on the sidewalks. It wasn’t the whole of New Orleans, but seeing it up close was impossible to ignore. I thought about how, even more than a decade after Katrina, some communities are still carrying the weight of that devastation. It made me realize how resilient people can be, and yet how much work remains to be done.

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We passed by some cemeteries offering tours, and if we’d had more time, we definitely would have gone. Even the girls were curious. What fascinated us all was that the graves are above ground—hauntingly beautiful is the only way I can describe it.

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On our way out of the greater New Orleans area, we crossed Lake Pontchartrain—which is massive. Ella, who had never seen the ocean before, was convinced it was the ocean. We also passed over several swamps, which added a little extra adventure to the drive.

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We crossed Mobile Bay in Alabama, which is technically part of the Gulf of Mexico, when Ella looked out her backseat window and exclaimed that she could see the “ocean.” Excited doesn’t even begin to cover it. At the same moment, a pelican glided by, making the moment even more magical.

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Ella’s second squeal of joy came when she spotted the Florida welcome sign. The state lines the entrance with palm trees—then you don’t see another one for about an hour. Ella had never seen a palm tree before, so, Florida, thank you for that little moment of magic.

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When we got to our condo, we dumped our suitcases in the kitchen, changed into shorts, and ran straight to the beach. I’m not exaggerating for effect—we really ran.

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We had dinner at a restaurant just down the beach that had no windows—only shutters. Our Midwestern minds were completely blown.

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Each day, one person got to choose breakfast or dinner. We didn’t eat out for lunch much—mostly because we were still full from breakfast. On the first day, Anna wanted to go to Krispy Kreme since we don’t have any nearby anymore. (We used to, but apparently northern Illinois residents know nothing about warm, gooey donuts.)

It was while sitting outside at 8 a.m., the last week of March, eating a fresh, hot Krispy Kreme donut, with our singing—yes, singing—cashier ringing us up, that we all exclaimed: WE ARE MOVING.

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On our first morning, we decided to explore and ended up in Panama City Beach, about an hour away. On the beach, we met an older couple with their dog and had a long, pleasant conversation with them.

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That picture up there sums up how all of us felt all week.

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By the way, none of us could stay up past nine each night—even our 17-year-old, who normally stays up until 2 a.m. at home.

We were outside from 7 a.m. to 4 p.m. most days, spending about four hours in the water, soaking up the sun the entire time. At night, we slept with the windows open, letting the ocean breeze serve as nature’s fan. It was exhilarating, to say the least.

We fully embraced Florida for the entire week.

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We woke up early every morning—thanks to our granny bedtime—and walked the beach each day we were there. On the last morning, Mike and I got up at 6 a.m. to watch the sunrise over the water, and it was easily the best decision we made all week.

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We all fell in love with Destin, but that little girl up there? I think she fell in love the most. The ocean and its waves completely calmed her. I truly believe she felt more connected to the water than any of us, and trust me—we were mesmerized watching her.

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This was my lunch on day one:

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I’ve pushed myself for years to do scary stuff, but truth be told, I’m afraid of pretty much everything. Remember the choo-choo of death?

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I’ve somewhat evolved since that fateful day.

I want to grow as a human, but if that means not using hand sanitizer every time I eat out in public… well, maybe some growth can wait.

No, seriously—I’m on my way to becoming the Dalai Lama. Case in point: look what I did in Destin.

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That’s right, folks—I got off the ground and flew through the air.

I felt like Superwoman after doing it.

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And make sure to get “dipped.”

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On our third day, we took a tip from one of the guides on the parasailing boat and headed to Okaloosa Pier, just outside Destin.

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I have a habit of taking pictures of my feet in places.

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It’s my quirky thing to show that I do get out of the house occasionally.

See this water:

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This part of our vacation is what I like to call the Jet Ski From Hell Incident.

So, I’m not the Dalai Lama—but I don’t think he ever got on a jet ski. And there’s a perfectly good reason for that: he isn’t an idiot.

Just so you know, I don’t know how to swim. There’s a long story behind that, but for the sake of this tale: Mike can swim, the girls can swim, I cannot.

So why, when my husband suggested we rent jet skis and take the girls out, did I say OH YES! LET’S DO THIS! instead of HOLY BALLS, NOOO!?

No clue. Apparently, I was still riding the parasailing high.

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After a five-minute beginner’s lesson on jet skiing, our instructor strapped on our safety vests, and off we went.

I had Anna on my jet ski, Mike had Ella on his. Everything was fine for the first couple of minutes—then we left the pier, and I started hyperventilating.

There’s so much water out there.

We’re going under a bridge? With cars driving over us?

Wait… is that a shark? I think it is.

Every neurotic scenario my brain could imagine was running wild.

All while trying to create a “no wake situation”—under a bridge—with sharks swimming around us.*

*Sharks weren’t actually there. Allegedly.

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This must have been what Rose and Jack felt like in Titanic.

After passing under the bridge, we approached shallow water and a sandbar—not literally hitting it, but close enough to notice.

Look! A hot dog stand on the water! Maybe I do love jet skiing.

And there was a dog on the back of another jet ski. I told myself to pull it together—if a dog can do this, so can I.

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Then we hit the open water.

By the way, open water is nothing like the open road. Going 10 miles per hour on a brand-new, super-sensitive wave runner feels like doing 80 in a car—except on the open water, you might drown. I had imagined jet skiing very differently.

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It was more like this:

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Then the unthinkable happened:

My husband and nine-year-old daughter capsized their jet ski.

They were literally just idling when it happened, which sent my neuroses into overdrive.

Hearing my little girl cry and seeing the fear in her eyes? I went full panic mode.

Thank goodness for the boat that appeared out of nowhere to show my husband how to flip their upside-down jet ski right side up.

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Anna and I scooped Ella out of the water and decided our jet ski adventure was over. I would have jumped on the rescue boat with all those people if I hadn’t had to return our jet ski in 20 minutes.

Anna decided she’d ride with my husband and swam over to his jet ski—just in time for it to capsize again.

That sent Ella (who inherited my anxiety—sorry, kid) and me straight into AWW HELL NO mode.

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Ella and I crawled back to the harbor at a blistering five miles per hour.

Those 20 minutes felt like forever, but we made the best of it by playing the game of “Can you spot a dolphin? Don’t worry, no sharks.”

It’s surprisingly fun.

 

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Back on land that evening, we visited a local souvenir shop with a live shark in a tank.

Ella, now fully one with sea life after the Jet Ski From Hell incident, was devastated—and so were we—that this poor creature was trapped across the street from the ocean. We ran through elaborate rescue scenarios in our heads.

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Ghost crabs are almost see-through or very white, blending into the sand to hide from humans.

And what do humans do? Shine smartphone flashlights on them every night. No wonder they’re hiding.

Sigh.

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I didn’t want to come home.

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Neither did our girls.

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This is what vacation does for our daughters—it brings them together.

Away from their everyday lives, they were all over each other, and that was the greatest gift of the week. In Florida, we didn’t just find ourselves—we found each other.

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