2026 Blog

Every summer we make the trip to Schlitterbahn. Somewhere along the way it stopped being just another vacation and quietly became one of those traditions that marks the passing of time. Every year we tell ourselves we'll ride the same favorites, find a few new ones, eat too much junk food, and wonder why we don't come more often. It's one of those trips that always seems worth the drive—or, in this year's case, the flight. This summer, though, the trip carried a little more anticipation than usual because for the first time it wasn't really about us anymore. It was about Ripley.

Traveling with a toddler has taught us that trips rarely go exactly as planned. Sometimes that means discovering hidden gems, and other times it means accidentally ending up in the wrong border crossing lane with no cell service while trying to navigate international travel. Over the course of two weeks, we somehow managed to do both.

My birthday is four days away from Ripley’s, which essentially means I celebrate whenever there’s an opening in the calendar. This was 39—so not the “big one”—but 40 is looming like a midlife boss battle, so expectations are building. Grant and I agreed I’d push my “real” birthday trip to April, and suddenly the weekend was here. For reasons I still cannot logically explain, I chose Lima, Peru. Booked it about 6–7 weeks ago, did essentially no planning until the week of, and somehow convinced myself that was a solid, mature, well-thought-out strategy.

Grant and I couldn’t quite decide how to “do” Chicago. We had booked cheap flights months ago—one of those fares that pops up and feels irresponsible not to buy—and told ourselves we’d figure out the details later. As the trip got closer, we still didn’t have a real plan. That’s when I did something bold: I let Grant take the lead.

There are so many movies about Rome. So many sweeping shots, golden-hour ruins, Vespa montages, and romanticized piazzas that make it feel like this mythical, timeless place you’re supposed to fall in love with instantly. But appearances are deceiving. Rome is kind of like Instagram. You see the perfectly framed photo, but not the chaos just outside the shot. The reality is a million tourists, shoulder-to-shoulder, all trying to get their version of the same picture. March is considered “low season,” and yet it felt busy in a way that reminded me of San Diego Comic-Con — except Comic-Con has wide streets. Rome does not. Rome is narrow. And old. And crowded.

Grant and I have a long-standing love affair with Belize—well, probably better to say Ian Anderson’s Caves Branch, an eco-lodge tucked deep into the jungle where the food is great, the adventures are wild, and there are more stairs than anywhere else in the world. We first stayed there back in September 2015, and it sparked our love for travel. It was the kind of place that permanently resets your standards for vacations.