When Everything Goes Wrong… But Also Right

An uplifting tale of travel, toddler wisdom, and perspective

There’s a fine line between adventure and chaos, and during our three months abroad, we danced all over it. There were moments that felt like we were nailing this whole "traveling family" thing… and moments where it seemed like we had willingly entered a self-inflicted challenge on a reality show called "Survive Parenthood: Island Edition."

One of those moments began with a dreamy getaway to a Caribbean island. Ah yes, the sun, the sand, the turquoise waters… and the apartment we booked on Airbnb. Everything started smoothly — we landed to a warm welcome from our cheerful driver, who whisked us off to what we thought would be our serene little oasis. But when we arrived, we were greeted not by palm trees and piña coladas, but by scaffolding and construction tape. The building looked like it was halfway through becoming a hotel… or halfway through becoming rubble. Either way, not a great sign. Still, we smiled, we waved goodbye to our driver, and walked inside with the naive optimism only sleep-deprived parents can manage.

Then it hit us. The check-in process wasn’t going smoothly because — surprise! — we hadn’t actually been registered. No record. No key. No pool. No electricity from 8 AM to 5 PM. And did I mention the 100-degree heat and two cranky toddlers who thought this trip would include swimming and snacks, not sweating in a construction zone lobby?

At this point, everyone was unraveling. I called the apartment owner, who blamed his property manager, apologized, and suggested we stay the night while we figure things out. Reluctantly, we agreed. But wait! One more surprise: the apartment hadn’t been cleaned since the last guests left, and judging by the state of it, they had partied like it was 1999.

So there we were: two toddlers melting down, two parents questioning their life choices, and nowhere to go. Then, like a small miracle wrapped in a polyester uniform, the lobby attendant suggested we check the building next door. Desperate, we ran — okay, trudged — over. They had air conditioning. Bless them. And a single apartment was available. Was it updated? No. Was it spacious? Not unless you’re an elf. But it had AC and a working lock, so it was practically five-star in our book.

As I stood alone checking it out, I tried to convince myself things were improving. But truthfully, I was still cranky. Then we brought the girls up. Gemma, our ever-enthusiastic toddler, walked in, looked around, and with wide eyes exclaimed,“Oh this is perfect! And we’re so close to the beach!”

I stared at her — this little human who was unbothered by the retro furniture, the tight quarters, the change of plans. She saw beds and family and possibility. And that’s when it hit me: maybe we were doing it right after all.

Maybe the goal isn’t perfect plans or Pinterest-worthy vacations. Maybe it’s just to be present, roll with it, laugh through it, and appreciate that — even on a sweltering day with no electricity and broken plans — we’re together.

Travel tip from Gemma: If it’s got beds and the beach, it’s basically paradise.

Love, Gemma and Jules’s mom