Trip Report :: Holbox, Mexico

Holbox has been on our radar for a while, as we’d long heard it was one of the best spots to swim with whale sharks. (Ironically, we didn’t actually swim with them, as it wasn’t the right time of year. Next time!) So, when we were trying to find a beach spot for spring break this year, we dug a little deeper into this small, sleepy island town.

Turns out, when it comes to our preference for quieter, more remote, less developed beach spots with lots of local color, Holbox checks all of the boxes. That, coupled with the fact that we found really inexpensive tickets to Cancun, made it an easy choice.

Getting to Holbox isn’t exactly easy, though, but that’s one of the reasons why it is special. Here’s the thing: if a place is convenient for you, it is also convenient for lots of other people. Convenience isn’t in and of itself a bad thing, especially when traveling with kids, but we’ve often found that, if you’re willing to sacrifice a little convenience, the pay off will be worthwhile, and that was absolutely the case with Holbox. I’ve said it before on this blog, and I’ll say it again: pick a popular beach destination, like Cancun, and drive an hour or two away, and that’s where you’re going to find the sweet spot.

To get to Holbox, we took an Uber to the airport, a flight to Cancun, a 2.5 hour van ride to Chiquila (we had a private transfer with Miguel’s Holbox Transfer Service, and they were great), a 20 min. ferry ride to Holbox, and then a golf cart taxi ride to our rental house. To be honest, we’d underestimated the length of the travel day, mostly because the flight to Cancun seemed so quick and easy, compared to most of our flights, but the boys took it in stride, and they enjoyed checking off the various modes of transportation on a travel day to-do list they’d made.

We arrived in Holbox after 9PM, not having eaten dinner. Luckily, our AirBnB had an on-island concierge of sorts, and she was AMAZING. She helped arrange all of our transfers, had our rental golf cart waiting at the house when we arrived, had already ordered us pizzas, and was happy to show me how to get a few groceries from the market just 3 minutes down the road.

When I got back from getting the pizzas and some necessities, Sona had a look of horror on her face. “What?” I asked, worried. “We can’t stay here,” she said. Turns out, unbeknownst to us, each of the 3 bedrooms at our rental house had its own external entrance, meaning that the room the boys were sharing was basically it’s own little house, connected to our room by an external hallway. It certainly wasn’t ideal, especially with a pool in the back, and the AirBnB ad didn’t disclose this info, but we decided that, since the door locked from the outside, and since we’d brought the baby monitor with us, we would make do. (It ended up being fine, and we’d absolutely stay in that AirBnB again.)

I tell this story because it’s important to note that travel is often unpredictable, and when we go to places that aren’t as “easy,” there are almost always some sort of hiccups: bugs in the kitchen, external entrances for bedrooms, showers that don’t get hot, etc. At first, especially after long travel days, those things can seem overwhelming. By the end of the trip, they aren’t even blips on the radar.

Our days in Holbox were slow and wonderfully restful. We didn’t do any cooking at the house. So, each morning, we’d wake up, hop on our golf cart (no cars allowed on the island) and take the bumpy 10-minute ride along dirt roads into town for pastries or a quick breakfast at one of the many good restaurants. Inch for inch, Holbox has some of the best food of any island we’ve been on, btw.

We spent a few half-days at the beach near our house, Playa Cocos, which we really loved. We got there early, usually by 9:30AM, and we paid around $15 to rent beach chairs and umbrellas from the local vendor. Then, we’d spend several hours sipping mojitos, walking out to the sandbar in the water that seemed to never get more than knee-deep, and eating mango after mango from the couple who sell them from a cooler under one of the mangrove trees.

After we grew sun tired, we’d ride back to our house, each lunch by the pool, take long naps, and then head into town for dinner and exploring.

Although the island is small, we found plenty to do:

We explored a lot of the island’s beaches, of which there are many.

We “checked out” puppies from El Refugio animal shelter, taking them for walks around the beach. (Did this twice, actually, as the boys LOVED it.) If you want to do this, make sure to check the times they allow walking. When we were there, it was at 10AM and 5PM, and there were always people waiting at both times.


We paid like $2 to let the boys jump in the trampoline in the town square, which was TOTALLY questionable, but which they also loved. Did this several afternoons.

We booked a half-day AirBnB boating experience with Alonso, touring Bird Island, Paradise Island, and Mosquito Point. This CANNOT be missed, IMO. And, although there are many larger tour operations offering this same excursion, we really appreciated the intimacy and respect with which Alonso, a local, approached the tour. Punta Mosquito, in particular, had some of the most beautiful turquoise water we’ve ever seen. (You can walk to Punta Mosquito, but it takes about an hour each way, and requires wading through waist-deep water. All of the locals said they would NOT recommend doing this with kids.)

We ate LOTS of gelato, loads of fresh-cut fruit on the beach, marquesitas in the square each evening, and as many tacos as we could stand.

You’ll find this block of local food stalls just outside of town, and it 100% has some of the best food on the island. We were bummed that we waited until halfway through the week to try some of the stalls. Our favorites were the fish taco place (also had a great whole fried fish), the juice bar, and the very last stand all the way down on the left, which had some of the best tacos in Holbox. The boys LOVED their black bean and cheese tacos, and we loved the steak tacos.
Get a cajeta and banana marquesita from this cart and thank me later.

As much as we loved our time in Holbox, it’s not the kind of place you want to go to without having done your due diligence. Here are some things to know before you go, some of which we’d researched ourselves before going, and some of which we found out while there.

First, lots of people say you don’t need a golf cart for the full week, but we disagree, especially if you have kids. Our AirBnB ended up being about a 10-15 min golf cart ride outside of town, which would have been a 30-45 minute walk down dirt roads in fully exposed sun. I can’t imagine doing that trip several times a day with a whiny toddler, to be honest. I don’t even know if I’d want to do it myself. Bikes would be an option for older kids, but finding kid-sized bikes on the island is tough. There are also plenty of golf cart taxis, but we paid around $10 each way to get to and from town.

The golf carts are pricey. I think it was around $650 for the full week, but we used it CONSTANTLY. With it, we were able to explore much more of the island, and we were able to make multiple trips into town a day without feeling guilty about paying for a taxi. Plus, zooming around on the golf cart is just a blast. Both kids say it was their favorite part of the trip.

Next, as I’ve mentioned, all of the roads in Holbox are made of dirt. When it rains, many of those roads become literal streams–I’m talking knee-deep water that can be impassible with a golf cart. We saw one get stuck while we were there. We got really lucky, as it only rained on our last day, but I couldn’t believe how quickly the roads flooded.

In fact, not only did the roads flood, but halfway through nap, we awoke to the boys screaming bloody murder, and ran to their room to find that their bedroom was also flooding. The rain was no joke!

Honestly, we could barely get out of our driveway, and we couldn’t even return our golf cart before leaving because it was stuck. Sona and I both said that, had it rained our entire week, it likely would have ruined the trip for us.

BRING CASH. This was one thing I’d read before going, and we came to Holbox with a lot more cash (both dollars and pesos) than we’d ever traveled with before, but it still wasn’t enough. Very few places on the island take credit card, including the golf cart rental place, and there is only 1 ATM on the island that dispenses pesos, and it regularly runs out of money. Let’s just say that there were a few hours spent trying, anxiously, to get our hands on some cash.

Even with these–challenges?–we would go back to Holbox again in an instant. During another time of year, we could see whale sharks and flamingos and even a bio bay! If you’re family is the kind who needs non-stop excursions and amusement park-like activities to be entertained, then this probably isn’t the place for you. However, if you like to slow down, get your feet a little dusty, and have an adventure? I can’t recommend Holbox enough.

Not only were the people beyond kind, but we felt very, very safe on the island. Honestly, I felt safe in Holbox than on most of the Caribbean islands we’ve visited. And because the water is so calm and shallow at most of the beaches on the island, it makes for a great destination for the littles!

Holbox felt special, and it felt like a secret. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will be a secret much longer, and there’s talk of big resorts moving in. Alfonso, our boat guide, assured us that the island has laws protecting 80% of the land from development, and they don’t allow any structures higher than three floors. I hope they can continue to protect the beauty of that place, but I worry that it will be a completely different island in 10 years time.

All the more reason to go there now.

Our Holbox faves and recommendations:

  • stay on the quieter side of the island, near Punta Cocos
  • book a boat tour with Alonso through AirBnB
  • walk puppies at El Refugio–and make a donation to help them continue their good work!
  • watch sunset from Punta Cocos
  • spend evenings in the town square, eating at the various food carts, and watching the locals
  • eat dinners at La Tapatia (go when there’s a band playing), Roots Pizza (trampoline + live music), Barba Negra, and Viva Zapata (worth noting that there were many “nicer” restaurants we didn’t try, because kids)
  • get cheap tacos al pastor at Tacoqueto
  • eat breakfast/brunch at Tierra Mia, Painapol (go early!!!), and Restaurante Naranjas
  • get gelato at El Mangle Blanco (I loved the maracuya)
  • look for the lady selling tamales out of a cart on the street–fantastic!!
  • eat your way through the locals’ food stalls just outside of town
  • drive around and check out the abundance of really wonderful street art and murals
  • if in season, snorkel with whale sharks, find the flamingos, and visit the bio bay at night
  • find one of the many hammocks on the various beaches and plant yourself there for as long as you possibly can

Trip Report :: La Fortuna, Costa Rica

It’s a cliche, but it’s also true: I’ve saved the best for last.

If you remember from my Samara post, we’d originally planned on staying in La Fortuna, near the Arenal volcano, for only 4 nights. However, after an AirBnB blip in Samara, we decided to head there 2 days early, giving us almost a full week.

In the end, we probably should have always spent the most time in La Fortuna, because, of the three places we visited during this particular trip, it was, by far, the most jam-packed with stuff to do. As it turned out, it also ended up being our favorite stop.

Originally, we’d booked a large two-queen room at the Arenal Observatory Lodge. It’s an “eco lodge,” which means that it doesn’t have a lot of the modern luxuries you might be used to. There are no TVs, the rooms are fairly basic (though clean), and there’s no AC. After having spent several nights in 100-degree Samara, sleeping in an AirBnB with hardly any AC, we realized that we needed to end in a place where we would be more comfortable. (Although, having now experienced the much more temperate climate in La Fortuna, we probably could have hacked it without AC.)

So, when we decided to cut our time in Samara a bit early, we also made a very last-minute lodging switch, opting instead to stay at Hotel El Silencio del Campo, which wasn’t really on our radar before. To be honest, it was one of the only affordable places that had rooms available, and the website boasted that they had an organic farm onsite. So, we gave it a shot.

Although the Arenal Observatory Lodge looked great, and it is the only lodging actually INSIDE of Arenal National Park, meaning I think it is still worth a look, ending our trip at Hotel El Silencio del Campo really ended up being a twist of fate, as it is one of our favorite places we have ever stayed.

The property is composed of 20-something cabin-like villas, each with a large bathroom, a mini bar, one or two beds… and AC! It’s right near the center of the action in La Fortuna, and right next door to a pretty gaudy resort, but they have done such an amazing job of making the boutique hotel feel like a quiet, isolated oasis.

The grounds are the real champion, as there are several different hot springs, a full-sized pool, a restaurant that offered a perfectly good breakfast each morning, a playground, and a little farm, which made for the boys’ favorite experiences of our trip.

On the farm, there are ponies, cows, goats, sheep, peacocks that roam free, a couple hundred chickens, and other kinds of fowl. Kids can milk the cows, ride horses, and gather eggs every single day, which we took advantage of as much as possible. We also saw a momma and baby sloth, which live on the property, along with several lizards and iguanas.

Honestly, I really can’t say enough good things about the property. We aren’t the kind of folks who like to spend a lot of time at a hotel, which is why we usually opt for smaller lodgings or AirBnB type places, but Hotel Silencio del Campo was the exception. We spent a lot of time on onsite, and we enjoyed every second of it. It probably helped that, due to COVID, the property was only occupied at 30%, and we were often the only people around.

Anyway, our days in La Fortuna went something like this: wake up, grab breakfast onsite, milk the cow and ride a horse, venture out for an activity, grab lunch in town, come back for nap time, wake up and spend an hour or so in the hot springs (which are especially lovely when it is raining), grab dinner in town, go to bed early. Even though we did an activity or two every single day, we still couldn’t get it all in.

One of the things La Fortuna is known for, other than the Arenal volcano, is that there are natural hot springs. A lot of the big resorts have created their own hot springs, but they just aren’t the same. Although many, many people buy day passes to one of several beautifully tempting resort properties, where you can use their hot springs for a fee (Tabacon is the one we would have chosen, if we did the day pass thing, but it’s better for adults only), we really wanted to go to the free, local hot springs, which are hidden away off the side of the main road.

I’d read several reports of families going, and I figured it was safe enough. So, on our first full day in La Fortuna, we headed out to find Chollin’ hot springs. To get there, you park on the side of the road, right next to the Tabacon entrance. You’ll know when you find the spot, as you’ll likely see other cars parked, and you’ll also find unofficial parking attendants, who will watch your car for $3 or so. Pay them. You can afford it, and they are helpful.

There’s a little trail that leads into the jungle from the road. Follow the trail down for a few minutes, and you’ll come to what looks like a shallow, babbling river with lots of little pools. On one side, a cool creek flows down from the rainforest. So, you can choose whether you want to sit in a little pool of lukewarm water, or whether you want to venture further in to find water that is quite hot. We did both, and, honestly, it was my favorite day of the entire trip. I have never seen a place so magical.

By around 11AM, it starts to get busier. So, if you can, go early. Also, make sure to bring a waterproof bag so that you can keep it close. Again, we felt totally safe, but you want to be smart.

On another day, we drove 40 minutes outside of La Fortuna to do the half-day volunteer tour at Proyecto Asis–another highlight of the trip. Because of COVID, we ended up having a private tour, which was really a once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience.

Proyecto Asis helps rehabilitate wild animals who have been injured or who have been illegally kept as pets. Their goal is always to release animals back into the wild, and they run a really admirable operation. As part of our volunteer experience, a guide introduced us to and taught us about every animal at the property, and then we got to prepare the food for all of the animals and make the daily feeding rounds. It was unbelievable, and I’d do it again in a second.

Another day, we did the Don Olivio Chocolate Tour. Sona and I have done a Costa Rican chocolate tour before, but we wanted the boys to experience it. To prep Finn, we watched the StoryBots episode about where chocolate comes from the night before. He was so excited! Admittedly, Elias was a little bored, but the Don Olivio family tried SO hard to engage the boys, giving them constant snacks, allowing them to be hands on, and cracking lots of jokes.

It’s a very small, family-run operation, but that’s also what made it special. We got to not only see cacao, but we also got to try freshly picked pineapple, different varieties of bananas, mango, fresh-pressed sugar cane juice, orange juice straight from the orange, and other delicious things. (We may or may not have done a couple shots of the rum they distill onsite.) We saw and learned about over 25 different kinds of spices, fruits, and vegetables grown in Costa Rica. And, of course, we got to harvest cacao, grind the roasted beans, and make fresh hot chocolate!

Another must do in La Fortuna is the Mistico Hanging Bridge tour. It’s a 2-3 hour hike through the rainforest, complete with 6 hanging bridges above the canopy. We really suggest going with a guide, as you’ll see MUCH more wildlife that way (this is true of most places in Costa Rica–the guides are experts at spotting things you’d never see), and we booked with Tavo through AirBnB experiences. He was amazing–and great with the boys! We told him the last animal we really wanted to see before leaving was an eyelash viper. And I kid you not: he found one within 3 minutes!

Pro tip: you can rent really nice strollers there for $8, which SAVED us, as Elias would never have made it the whole way otherwise.

On our last day in La Fortuna, we awoke to the clearest view of the Arenal volcano we’d seen. It was such a gift!

Then, we decided to cram in ALL THE THINGS. We started by doing the SkyTram at Sky Adventures. Admittedly, it’s a little pricey for a relatively short ride, but the view was worth it. If your kiddos are old enough to zip line, they have an amazing course, and the tram is included in the tour.

We also checked out the butterfly conservatory, which has a lot of indigenous frogs, too. We could have easily spent a full morning there, but sped through in just an hour, as it was crammed in right before lunch.

We went into town for one last lunch at Soda Viquez, a place we loved, and one last copo in the park.

We had one last swim in the hot springs.

Even as I write this very long post, I feel the frenzy of panic, wondering what must-dos I have missed. La Fortuna has so much beauty to experience, and the temperate climate makes it a lot more comfortable than other parts of Costa Rica. Although I thought I’d like it least, as it isn’t near the beach, Sona and I both ended loving it the most, saying that it was the kind of place we could see ourselves settling for an extended period of time.

Leaving Costa Rica was hard, but La Fortuna sure did a good job of offering us one last hoorah.

Our nearly 3 weeks in Costa Rica went by too quickly, as it always does, but when I look back on my posts about Manuel Antonio, Samara, and La Fortuna, I’m damn-near knocked over by all we got to see and experience–and more importantly, all our boys got to see in experience–in that time.

Every time we go to Costa Rica, we find it harder to leave.

Our La Fortuna faves and recommendations:

  • stay at Hotel Silencio del Campo
  • eat at Soda Viquez (LOVED the arroz con camarones and the chuleta Casado and the iced tea)
  • eat lunch at Rancho Mi Tata (on the way back from Proyecto Asis)
  • get pretty decent pizza and let your kids run wild in the playroom at Cafe Mediterraneo
  • do a guided tour of the Mistico Hanging Bridges with Tavo
  • taste the wonders on the Don Olivio Chocolate tour
  • do a half-day volunteer experience with Proyecto Asis
  • visit the butterfly conservatory
  • get chocolates at Chocolate Fusion Cafe
  • eat arroz con pollo at Soda La Parada (right on the square)
  • walk around the park in the square and get a copo and fresh OJ from the cart on the corner
  • visit Chollin hot springs (in the AM, if possible)
  • hike down to the La Fortuna waterfall (we didn’t do this, as we weren’t sure Elias would last on the 500 steps up and down, but we’ve heard it’s amazing)

Trip Report :: Samara, Costa Rica

Last week, I shared a trip report for our first stop on our recent Costa Rican adventure: Manuel Antonio. Next up: Samara!

Samara was actually the first spot on our radar for this particular trip. Since, as I’ve mentioned already, we’d previously visited the Caribbean coast, we knew we wanted to explore the Pacific side this time. The Guanacaste region, which Samara is in, is the one of the most popular tourist destinations in Costa Rica. Although, most people end up in the northern part of the region, near Tamarindo.

Instead, we opted for Samara, which I’d heard about through a few Costa Rica expat Facebook groups of which I’m a member. Samara, which is near the southern tip of Guanacaste, is a much, much quieter beach town, known as an expat hub–and as a place with lots of young families. Playa Samara also boasts some of the most shallow surf in Guanacaste, making it good for the littles.

The drive from Manuel Antonio to Samara took about 5 hours, was easy, and provided some really beautiful scenery. We arrived in Samara in the early afternoon, heading straight for the house we’d rented through AirBnB.

When we planned our itinerary for Costa Rica, we imagined that the boys would struggle with moving around so much, and that we’d also need a break from the constant packing and unpacking. After all, the house in Samara was our 3rd stay in just 6 days. It was also, we thought, the most swanky of all our lodgings. So, we planned to stay for a full week, giving ourselves a bit of a reprieve. In the end, that ended up being a mistake, but I’ll say more about that later.

When we arrived, there were some issues with our AirBnB, which was the least favorite of all our lodgings in Costa Rica, as it turned out. So, we were all a little cranky, a little tired, and hungry. While the property manager was rectifying issues with our rental, we decided to head straight for the beach. We pulled along the cute, but small, main stretch of Playa Samara, parked on the side of the road, and wandered into a beachside cafe for pizza, salads, fresh juices, and a beach view.

Almost immediately, all the boys wanted to do was go play by the water. And who could blame them? They’d been in a car all day, it was hot as hell (over 100 the entire time we were there), and the surf was gorgeous.

Turns out, we spent almost every single day and night in Samara down on that same beach, often with only a handful of other people. Playa Samara is something special—one of my favorite beaches we’ve been to, and we’ve been to lots. While the waves can still get a bit rough, enough that the beach sustains a little surf school where you can watch kids and adults alike try again and again to stand up on their boards, low tide brings with it the most shallow, pool-like surf, which looks glass-like in the fading sun, and which is perfect for smaller children.

That shallow surf, plus a crescent of palm trees lining the beach, plus the copo (shaved ice) carts that wander up and down throughout the day, plus all of the small cafes that let you use their chairs and umbrellas if you purchase a drink, plus the occasional monkey, plus the wild horses grazing on grass that edges the sand, plus the complete and total absence of rows and rows of plastic resort beach chairs and loud, drunk tourists and hoards of people really makes Playa Samara special.

The little town of Samara is full of expats and locals alike. There’s plenty of restaurants to choose from, a couple of well-stocked grocery stores, organic juice bars, and ice cream shops, and side-of-the-road fruit stands. In a lot of ways, Samara feels like Tulum felt 10 years ago, and I hope it doesn’t end up like Tulum is now.

It felt like the kind of place where we could easily see ourselves settling, should we ever spend a year or two living in Costa Rica. Yet, for this particular vacation, with two boys who couldn’t yet surf or ride ATVs or safely swim in the waves, it didn’t quite warrant a full week. I think that, if we’d had a house that was more comfortable and air-conditioned (we can’t hang with the heat, what can I say?), we would have felt differently. I also think the boys were just a couple years too young to more fully enjoy the Samara area.

The beach is Samara’s main draw, and a wonderful beach it is. However, after having come from the adventure-packed rainforest of Manuel Antonio, Samara almost felt a little too sleepy for us, at least with Finn and Elias at their current ages. Every day was pretty much the same: wake up, grab pastries at Roots Bakery, head to the beach and set up show at Lo Que Hay, spend as many hours as we could stand the sun and heat, splashing in the waves and playing in the sand, come back to the house (which had no AC and was unbearably hot) for lunch by the pool, take naps, wake up, go back to the beach for dinner and sunset.

There was absolutely nothing to complain about, but the heat in Samara was relentless, and we knew we wouldn’t last a full 7 days in the sun. Plus, there was SO much we wanted to do in La Fortuna/Arenal, which was our last stop, that we realized we weren’t going to be able to fit it all in the in the 4 nights we’d planned there. It was an error made in the planning stage, we realized.

Nonetheless, we did our best to find little age-appropriate adventures, including visiting the gorgeous palm-tree covered park on the north end of town, doing drive-by visits of a couple other area beaches, spending a morning dolphin-watching (from a very small boat where pretty much all of us got seasick, but still), riding horses on the beach, eating some of our favorite meals in Costa Rica, and watching every sunset from the sand.

Everything came to a head though when, after several days of issues with our rental, one night we came home, after dark, the kids hungry and tired, and found that the gate to our property was broken. The property manager was an hour out at sea, and we were stuck in the middle of a pitch-black jungle with absolutely no way into our rental. Sona made the very bad decision to try and drive up a muddy hill, leading to the back of our property, and, long story short, she almost sent our rental car careening over the side of an embankment. It was literally held up by two slim palm trees. We panicked, got the kids out of the car as quickly as possible, and spent 2 hours, with the help of the nicest locals, unsuccessfully trying to get the car out safely.

The next morning, after a backhoe came at 6:15 AM to pull our car off of the ledge, we decided we’d go to the Macaw Recovery Network tour we’d long had booked, come back, pack our bags, and leave Samara two nights early, giving us more time in Arenal, which had much more to do, a more temperate climate, and AIR CONDITIONING, which everyone, even the boys, were missing. (Their bedroom was 80-85 most nights, and they had a hard time sleeping the entire time.)

So, while our time in Samara was slightly colored by a bad AirBnB experience, we still really loved the town, would still absolutely recommend it, and would come back–will hopefully come back–one day.

As we sat at Roots for one last breakfast before hitting the road for Arenal, the stray dog that Finn had befriended at the beginning of the week, and who’d somehow found us everywhere we went in town all week long, wandered up. At the same time, an expat family with a young son walked by, saying, “You should take her home. We love her, but we already have a dog.”

Of course, we couldn’t, but I sure got a little misty eyed imagining we lived the kind of life where we could just take that sweet, stray dog, jump in our beat-up beach car, and drive to our little Costa Rican beach home, where the floors are always sandy, swimsuits were perpetually drying on the patio, mango trees grow in the yard, and we live a much quieter, more family-centered life.

And as I write this post from our very comfortable, air-conditioned home in Chicago, the kids at school and Sona at work, there’s a big part of me that wishes we were all sweating together on that beach in Samara.

Our Samara faves and recommendations:

  • watch tide charts and make sure to hit up the beach at low tide
  • get drinks and guac and beach chairs at Lo Que Hay
  • eat as many copos as possible
  • but pipa fria and fresh OJ from the fruit cart in town (you’ll see the one)
  • splurge on a grilled feast at El Largarto
  • get pizza at the swanky Gusto beach cafe
  • eat as many meals as possible at Soda La Perla
  • sit in the porch swing chairs and eat sushi at Samara Sushi
  • take a horseback ride on the beach
  • visit the Macaw Recovery Network to learn about their conservation efforts
  • check out Playa Carillo
  • if your kids are old enough, take surf lessons at the surf shop on Playa Samara
  • get pastries and breakfast at Roots Bakery
  • if your group is old enough, take ATV or horseback rides to Playa Barrigona


Trip Report :: Manuel Antonio, Costa Rica

Sona and I first went to Costa Rica–Puerto Viejo, on the Caribbean side–almost 10 years ago. We flew into San Jose, had a nearly 5 hour drive to our jungle abode in Puerto Viejo, and arrived after dark–hot, hungry, and suddenly unsure about staying in a cabin with no walls, no AC, and plenty of creepy, crawling things. I’m pretty sure I cried that first night.

A week later, we not only had settled into our first Costa Rica vacation, but we’d fallen so in love with the country that a seed had been planted: maybe, one day, we could live in a place like this.

That little seed settled, germinated, and grew. So, after a year of COVID and languishing and feeling so stuck I wanted to crawl out of my skin, it was no surprise that the first place we wanted to take the kids in a post-COVID (or, recovering, at least) world was Costa Rica. It’s the most freeing place we’d ever been, and we were craving freedom.

Wanting to explore the Pacific coast of the country, which seemed to be a much more popular spot for tourists, we settled on three locations over 2.5 weeks: Manuel Antonio (for the rainforest), Samara (for the ex-pat beach life), and Arenal (for the volcano and hot springs).

So, on the day of departure, we woke at 2AM, left our house by 3AM, had two flights and a long layover before landing in San Jose at around 1:30PM. We picked up our rental car (from Adobe, full insurance, for anyone looking to rent a vehicle during their stay), and embarked on the 3 hour drive to Manuel Antonio. The kids had barely napped, Finn got carsick and puked Oreos in the backseat, and, once again, we found ourselves arriving in less-than-stellar spirits. It didn’t help that we pulled into our rental villa after dark, which meant we couldn’t appreciate the view that we would wake to the next morning.

Our first stay was in Casa Camila, which is one of the properties of Alta Vista Vacation Rentals, which we found on AirBnB. I’ll be honest: it wasn’t our first choice. However, by the time we got around to finally booking, most of the MA homes we’d saved were already taken. Ironically, Casa Camila ended up being my and Sona’s favorite stay of the trip.

The house is small and quaint, but it has the modern luxuries (AC, washing machine, ample hot water) that make traveling a little more comfortable, especially with kiddos. The real winning feature was the pool, which overlooked the rainforest and the ocean, and was the perfect spot from which to watch the two nesting Scarlett macaws who made a tree directly in front of the property their home. In fact, of all of the places we stayed, our little bungalow in MA was the one where we most enjoyed just hanging out on property.

We spent our first day and a half in Manuel Antonio just settling in, hanging out by the pool, and letting the kids adjust to their new surroundings. We spent 5 days in MA, ultimately, which many would argue is too many, if you are the type who likes to have a new experience every single day, but since it was our first stop, it was nice to be able to transition slowly into vacation mode.

The kids are too small to take advantage of much of what MA has to offer, like strenuous hikes and zip lining galore and river rafting. However, we really came for the wildlife, and so we scheduled a guided tour of the Manuel Antonio National Park with Mike of Mike’s Nature Tours, and I can’t recommend him enough.

The tour is generally a 4-5 hour affair, including an hour-long stop at the beautiful beach that sits halfway through the MANP loop. Like most days in Costa Rica, the day we went was HOT and and humid, and the boys struggled a bit, both because they hadn’t fully adjusted to the heat and bugs (Elias got bitten by something the second we got to the park, and he was on edge for the rest of the time) and because most of the wildlife was best seen through a monocular, which didn’t always capture the interest of a 2 and 5 year old. Even though Mike pointed out a ton of wildlife that we’d never have seen without him (sloths, 3 kinds of monkeys, frogs, lizards, bats, birds, etc.), Elias and Finn were fading, and Sona and I ended up carrying them to the “rest stop,” which is a small cafe just before the beach.

Once they had some snacks, they rallied a bit, and by the time we hit the beach, they were all game for fun. The beach at MANP is GORGEOUS and remote and undeveloped in all of the best ways. Costa Rica isn’t known for its beaches, which CR enthusiasts will tell you, but I love their wildness. Although the water is a little too rough for the littles to swim in, we splashed and ran in the sand and chased iguanas and hermit crabs until Mike waved his hand, indicating it was time to move on with the tour.

The second half of the walk went a lot better, and the boys were motivated by the big surprise we had been baiting them with all morning. After we left MANP and grabbed some lunch, we checked into our second accommodation, which was a splurge that Sona and I had kept hidden from the boys for a few months: we were staying in a full-sized 747 jet that has been converted into a jungle home!

I’d be waiting for the moment when we pulled up to the jet for weeks, barely able to keep my mouth shut, and it did NOT disappoint. The 747, which we also booked through AirBnB, is on the property of the Costa Verde resort in MA, which is huge and well-groomed and boasts a few airplane abodes, as well as regular hotel rooms. The airplane was so well placed, though, that we felt like we were all alone, and we never saw more than one or two people at any of the pools on property.

The motto of the hotel is “more monkeys than people,” and they weren’t lying. Minutes after checking in, Finn went out on one of the balconies for some time in a hammock, and he was quite literally stormed by capuchins, who seemed to be dropping out of thin air, and who wanted to make clear that this was THEIR jungle, and we were just visitors. It scared little Finn to death, but is not one of our favorite memories of the trip.

The next day, which was our last in MA, we decided to find one of the secret beaches mostly only locals know about. Mike, our guide, recommended it, and it didn’t disappoint. Playa Biesanz is located off a jungle road, down a 10-minute jungle trail. It’s one of those places you wouldn’t know about unless someone told you, and that’s what made it so great. You’ll know you’re in the right spot when you see a few cars on the shoulder of the road and some local guys, who are make-shift parking attendants, asking for around $3 to watch your car. Just pay them. It’s honest work, and they are kind, and it’s less than you’d spend on a coffee in the States.

We spent a full half day at that beach, wading in the cool “sweet water” stream that comes down from the rainforest and trails into the ocean and drinking limonatas made by a local who has a very make-shift bar set up under the palm trees (you can also rent umbrellas and chairs from him for around $15).

Manuel Antonio is small, and many folks say there are better spots in Costa Rica to catch the rainforest. If we had to compare it to Puerto Viejo, which is also a beachfront town in the middle of the rainforest, I think we’d say we prefer the latter just slightly, but we were really charmed by MA, and it was a wonderful place to be welcomed into this trip. Sona and I make every attempt to steer clear of super touristy spots when traveling, and MA didn’t feel very touristy at all. Although, that might have been due to low numbers of travelers because of COVID. Nonetheless, we liked it a lot, and we would absolutely go back.

Our Manuel Antonio faves and recommendations:

  • rent a villa from Alta Vista Vacation Rentals, which feels more like a B&B–complete with hot breakfast every morning, cleaning service, and a concierge–than a true vacation rental
  • consider a night or two in one of the airplane abodes at Costa Verde and watch out for the capuchins
  • hire Mike from Mike’s Nature Tours for a guided tour of Manuel Antonio National Park (but make sure the kiddos have eaten plenty before going, as you aren’t allowed any snacks within the park)
  • eat at El Wagon Pizza, which has a great atmosphere for families and really, really good pizza
  • eat at Emilio’s Cafe–great breakfast and my favorite whole-fried fish of the entire trip
  • wander around the town of Quepos, and eat at one of the small sodas
  • take the kiddos to El Avion, a restaurant under the wings of a captured spy plane, with a great view and a cockpit they’ll love exploring (the food is good, not great, but worth a stop for the atmosphere)
  • absolutely stay somewhere with a view, as it’s one of the best features of MA

Trip Report :: Todos Santos, Mexico

Like the rest of the world, we spent most of the past year social distancing. For Sona, her life didn’t look much different, as she’s in the medical field and, therefore, work was pretty much business as usual. For me, though, it meant that I went from an uber-social work setting, wherein I am accustomed to interacting with dozens of students and colleagues every week, to the isolation of a laptop, a not-so-comfy-chair, and an empty house.

This is to say, while Sona and I both needed to get away, I really felt like my mental health was hanging on by a thread. So, when my parents offered to watch our kids for a week in March, as they do every year (thank goodness for grandparents, am I right?!), we decided we’d pounce on the opportunity to leave (the house, the city, and the country), and we headed to Baja Sur, Mexico, which was a sleepy enough spot that we felt like, although there were still some risks involved with travel, we’d have a decent shot of a safe and mostly distanced vacay.

Todos Santos, specifically, has been on our radar for a few years. It’s one of those places that very few people knew about a decade ago. However, thanks to social media, it has become one of the “most undiscovered spots in Mexico”–albeit, not for long.

Generally speaking, Sona and I always try to avoid a lot of the Greatest Hits destinations. We often joke that, if you want a good travel experience, you should fly into a really touristy spot, and then drive an hour or two away. That has been our experience all over the world, and we often find a lot of sweet spots by doing just that. This time, that meant flying into Cabo, hopping in a Jeep (Sona’s dream car), and taking Highway 19 about an hour and a half north, past more cacti then you ever thought possible, until you hit Todos Santos.

While Todos Santos checks all of our off-the-beaten-path boxes, it also, ironically, is home to a very hip and chic hotel by The Bunkhouse Group, which really sealed the deal for us. We wanted quiet and an escape from the rowdy crowds that Cabo has in abundance, but we also needed a little pampering. That is, having a boho lux hotel, plopped right into the middle of the otherwise undeveloped desert, was exactly the kind of salve our travel-starved, COVID-weary souls craved. Enter: Hotel San Cristobal.

Located at the end of a questionably dusty road–one enough to make even seasoned travelers a bit squeamish–sits the sort of 70s-inspired, bohemian paradise your Baja dreams are made of. The white stucco hotel, which is the only building on a Pacific bay where we never saw more than a handful of people on the beach at any time, provides a good respite from days spent driving up and down the desert, eating fish tacos, and adventuring around the peninsula.

Because of the pandemic, the hotel was at 20% capacity, which means that, most days, we felt like we had the entire place to ourselves. (The property only has 32 rooms. So, I imagine it still feels small, even at full capacity.)

Each night, while the property was still and the Pacific waves roared, we sat by the fire, drank mezcal cocktails, ordered plate after plate of churros, and watched the stars.

Then, come morning, as we’re always want to do, we would adventure. There’s really so much to see and experience and EAT in the area, if you’re willing to drive a bit.

We spent a good bit of time just wandering around downtown Todos Santos, which, although there are some corners geared toured tourists, still feels mostly authentic and unspoiled, especially if you work to find the local spots.

We visited the many, many art galleries–it’s an artists’ town–and tried every fish tacos the place had to offer. (Go to the blue and orange street stand, across the street from Hotel California, for the best!)

We spent a day at Cerritos Beach, watching the many surfers on the water, and stopped at the Justina Blanket Factory on the way.

We didn’t get to have sunset cocktails at Hacienda Cerritos, but we hear it’s a great spot! We also loved Barracuda Cantina, where we got great shrimp tacos and passionfruit cocktails with our toes in the sand.

We spent a day at sea, swimming with Whale Sharks and sea lions, as the former is what originally piqued our interest in the Baja Peninsula to begin with.

During the excursion, we stopped at Balandra Beach, outside of La Paz, which is surrounded by pink mountains, and widely considered to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. It did not disappoint.



We ate the best carnitas of our lives at Carnitas Machin, a roadside stop in El Pescadora–and area really worthy of exploring and eating your way through.

We found that, after a difficult year wherein we often had to be together, we actually still liked being together. (Something that all long-married couples, but especially those with kids, need help remembering every now and then.)

And we spent night after night, driving across town to a somewhat hidden beach, where we’d heard they sometimes release sea turtle hatchlings. Four nights we went, and four nights we found the makeshift hatchling tent empty.

Then, on our very last night in Todos Santos, just as we were walking back to our car, somewhat defeated, we saw an ATV come rambling up the beach, park at the tent, and a volunteer go inside.

So, we spent our final night watching the sun set and trying to coax turtle hatchlings into the water. Everyone left, even the volunteer, and Sona and I sat alone on the pitch-black beach, watching over the handful of timid hatchlings that were taking their time.

Did I mention that we also saw grey whales spouting from that same beach?

It might have been the fact that we hadn’t truly traveled in well over a year or the release that was having a week of unrestrained joy after pandemic living, but we completely fell for all that Baja Sur had to offer, and it was the perfect reminder, after a year of feeling so isolated, that there is a big, wide, beautiful world outside of our front door, even if we can’t always see it.

Our Baja Sur faves and recommendations:

  • eat all of the fish tacos, but especially the ones at the blue and orange street stand in Todos Santos and at the very local-oriented Compa Chava
  • stay at Hotel San Cristobal 
  • spend a day in Cerritos, eating lunch at Barracuda Cantina and watching surfers on the beach
  • shop for woven blankets at the Justina Blanket Factory
  • eat lots and lots and lots of carnitas at Carnitas Machin
  • eat the catch-of-the-day turned sushi at Derek’s
  • visit the many art galleries in Todos Santos; we especially liked La Sonrisa de la Muerte
  • spend a day on the water with Explora Baja
  • if you go during the right months, watch baby turtles be released at Torugueros Las Playitas
  • grab pastries and coffee at Talle 17 and wall down Calle Benito Juarez (the street with all of the hanging flags)
  • spend a lazy afternoon eating lunch and exploring the organic gardens at Hierbabuena
  • get the passion fruit sorbet at La Paloma
  • have a “fancy” dinner at Jazamango, and order the whole fish
  • check out the mezcal pop-up at El Refugio, Tues-Sat
  • spend a lot of time sitting in the sand, doing absolutely nothing, other than watching for whales




Finn Turns 5!

Finn,

Today, you turned 5! Five feels like the real beginning of growing up which, of course, I hate. But watching you grow up has been the best part of my life. And so, I’m willing to accept that it must go on.

We are in the middle of a pandemic–something I hope we can all one day talk about as having been a strange, but relatively short-lived, part of our history. So, we couldn’t celebrate this milestone birthday in the way I would’ve have wanted, but you didn’t seem to mind much.

This past Friday, we took you to your first water park to celebrate. We know that solo days with me and Mommy are few and far between, and we wanted to give you our undivided attention for as long as we could. We also wanted to see you swim, something you are well on you way to being able to do, thanks to Coach MG, who you started training with this year!

True to form, you were scared of pretty much every feature of the park, but when I told you I really, really wanted all of us to go down the big family slide together, you committed to going up. You acted silly all the way to the very top, which was quite high. I knew your silliness was a way of trying to cover up the anxiety you were feeling and, sure enough, your mask slipped the second we stepped foot into the raft. We quite literally had to hold you down, screaming, while telling the lifeguard to push.

He did. You froze. I’m pretty sure none of us will ever forget that ride.

We have to push you to be the brave boy we know you can be a lot, but you also push us right back in the most incredible ways. You push me to be present when you tell me to get off of my phone. You push Mommy to let go of housework when you tell her “Come here and see this!” You push all of us to be more silly, more full of life, and more centered on our family.

When we ask you what you want to do with a free weekend, your answer is always “be together.”

You, my little nervous boy, are also the kindest, most empathetic, and most wonderfully sensitive soul. You are thoughtful about others in ways that astound me. Everyone who really knows you sees these things in you, too.

Today, we decked the house out in every Super Mario Bros. decoration we could find, determined to make this birthday special. Mario is a newfound obsession, along with Sonic, the Ninja Turtles, and anything having to do with space.

You are currently sleeping under a string of solar system lights, which was one of your birthday gifts. You asked, “Why does only Saturn have rings?” Because you are smart enough to know that other planets actually have rings, too.

You are so smart. You have the most incredible memory, and can easily remember things from when you were 2 or 3 in unbelievable detail. You have an addiction to stuffed animals, or “stuffies”, as you call them, and I have to sneak and purge them while you’re at school, else your room would be over-run. You are an expert scooter-er, like to show us how fast you can run (FAST), and seem to pick up pretty much every athletic skill with ease. You insist on hugging your brother every morning at school drop-off, even though he couldn’t care less. You pretty much only eat fruit, vegetables, and snacks. You have started showering by yourself (much to my dismay). You are an avid rule-follower, quick to point out when we are doing something wrong. And you’ll do pretty much anything for the promise of a video game night with Mommy and I.

There’s no one in the world I’d rather spend a day with than you, Finn. Your brother may be the little light of our family, but you are our heart.

We love you endlessly. I can’t wait to see what your 5th year brings!

Happy birthday!

Elias Turns 2!

My sweet Elias,

Today, you are two. It feels like you went to sleep as my last baby and woke up as a little boy. I can’t believe it has already been two years, but don’t all parents say that? (Probably because it’s true.)

Last night, Finn, Mommy, and I all had to take turns holding the back of your t-shirt collar so that you wouldn’t run into the street, head turned slightly back toward us, just enough for us to see your devlish smile–an expression with which we’ve become quite familiar. (You should know: your brother is always trying to save you.)

You keep us on our toes, Elias. I’ve never met a kid so hard to keep alive but so easy to love. You are daring and brave and endlessly silly, but you are also affectionate and kind and care-free in the best possible ways. After you’ve done something impossibly dangerous–like jump head-first off of the couch or sneak out of the back door–your mommy and I will just look at each other, shake our heads, and ask “What are we going to do with this one?”

But we also tell each other, “I would have another baby in a second if I knew for sure they would be like Elias.”

You charm everyone who meets you, Elias. You are all fun, all of the time. You’re hardly ever cranky, really never have tantrums (though, I know they are likely coming), and you always go with the flow. You love to be the life of the party.

The running joke in the family is that, one day, you’ll be everyone’s favorite college buddy–the guy who everyone goes to for a laugh, and the one who will be on YouTube, standing at the edge of some rooftop, half-naked, doing something that personifies the phrase, “Hold my beer!”

You are all joy and sunshine and dimples. From the second you wake up, waiting patiently in your crib, singing and playing, for as long as we leave you there, you are happy.

You, like most little boys, idolize your big brother, following him around, feigning pain if he gets hurts, stealing all of his favorite toys. You ask to go “night night” and love to sleep. You prefer Zoe and Abby over Big Bird and Grover. You love Elmo, but never watch Elmo. Your current favorite trick is to pretend you are choking, after which you laugh. You are memorized by music; love “snacks”; would live on fruit; have an impressively expansive vocabulary for a newly-minted 2-year-old; can share clothes with Finn, who is almost 5; skip and hop more than you walk; are impossibly clumsy, but rarely fuss about taking a topple; adore books; say “Oh, shit” at all the appropriate moments; refuse to wear your shoes outside; don’t bother even saying goodbye to us at school each morning, though your brother always tries to give you a goodbye hug from behind; love making messes and love cleaning them up; want to go on the “po-ch” constantly; never turn down a walk; are always singing (“Wheels on the Bus,” “Clean Up, Clean Up,” “Hello, Hello,” and the ABCs are current faves); and are known in the neighborhood as “that boy who walks around in boots and a diaper.”

You are so unlike everyone else in our little family, the rest of us who tend to be anxious and overly emotional and introverted. But not you! You are our little light–the one who keeps all of us laughing, even when things get dark.

We love you endlessly, Elias Lake, and we are so happy you’re ours. Happy birthday!



The Irony of “Before”

This is me on March 18, 2020. It was my first full day alone with the boys, at the beginning of Chicago’s lockdown, during the first day of what was supposed to have been my Spring Break, and on the first day of what I knew would be a many-week long stint of my being a daytime single mom to a one year old and a very needy four year old, all while trying to do my full-time teaching gig online, without having prepared to do so, which in and of itself felt like a Herculean task at the time.

I was struggling. I was waist-deep in the realization that this would be my reality for quite a while, and I’d hit an emotional wall. I was hiding in our stairwell, having a good cry, while Elias and Finn were fighting over a toy for the 37th time that day. It wasn’t even noon.

Fast forward to the end of May, to when another momma friend texted that the boys’ school was reopening in June, to when my semester was over and my responsibilities were becoming less burdensome by the minute. And want to guess my reaction upon receiving that text? More tears.

Looking back, now, I have to stop myself from romanticizing the 10 weeks I spent at home with the boys. March 18 wasn’t the only hard day I had. There were lots of days that ended in tears–mine and theirs. Lots of days when I would think, “Will this ever be over?” Lots of days when Sona would come home, exhausted from a long day of work, and I’d unload all of my resentment and frustration on her.

Some days, I gave up and let them have more screen time than I should probably admit. Others, I waffled between guilt over being a not-so-present momma to guilt over being a not-so-present professor.

But a lot of the days were pretty damn good. And, after a week or so of initial shock, the boys and I settled in to our own kind of quarantine routine that went something like this: wake up slowly; cuddle in bed for a bit; have (a previously frozen) breakfast; do “school,” which entailed some version of circle time, writing and reading activities, and music class; work through more Pinterest-inspired art projects than I could possibly name, always while listening to The Beatles; go for a long walk in the neighborhood, usually accompanied by hot chocolate or donuts (or both); take late naps; eat late dinners; have late bedtimes; go for “field trips” on Wednesday to explore some new corner of the city–all things typically accomplished while still in our PJs.

It goes without saying that our COVID-19 experience was more privileged than most. We were lucky not to have to worry about our jobs. I was lucky to only have to worry about how to entertain the kids.

And yet, despite being in the midst of a pandemic and finding myself in a parenting position that I bemoaned in my last post, I was happier and less anxious than I’ve been in a long, long time–and so were the boys.

What I came to recognize during quarantine was that, aside from our maternity leaves for each kid, I’d never had a chance to be such a fully present and focused parent to the boys. There’s always stuff. You know the kind: doctors appointments and work responsibilities and dryer vents needing cleaned and errands needing run and play dates and activities that you have FOMO about and weekends to be maxed out and weekdays evenings to be rushed through.

I’ve read before about the “burden of choice,” which is to say that the more options we have about how to fill our days, the more anxious and stressed we get about whether we can or should do it all. Lockdown took away all of the options. Everything in Chicago was closed, even playgrounds, and, for at least the first half of quarantine, it was really too cold to even regularly enjoy the outdoors.

So, my only choice was to stay home and be with our kids–something I resented at first but relished eventually.

My own anxiety all but disappeared. Of course, there were moments of stress here and there, but they were few and far between. I’ve waxed poetic, before, about the “baby bubble” new parents find themselves in after the birth of a child. I was in some sort of “COVID bubble,” mostly cut off from the world outside of train tracks and dance parties and bowls upon bowls of treats. Anxiety is worrying about all the things you have to do and all of the stuff that may happen. There really wasn’t anything we could do, and absolutely nothing was happening.

I was, as parents often are, having the completely paradoxical experience of both wanting “real life” to resume and wishing we could suspend our quarantined time just a bit longer.

What became very clear was this: the normalcy we thought we missed from before COVID-19 wasn’t in fact worth missing at all, at least not when it came to life as a working family.

If what we thought we’d been experiencing in the midst of the pandemic was dysfunction, then did that mean that what we experienced prior was functional? Because I don’t think it was.

I realize now, more than ever, that our lives before C19 were completely devoid of any kind of real work/life balance–and I think this is true for a lot of people, especially parents. I say this while knowing that we got a lot more meaningful time with our kids than a lot of people do. Still, it’s not enough.

About halfway through our time in lockdown, it occurred to me: I could do this. By “this,” I don’t mean living in an endless viral Hell-scape wherein I can’t come within 6′ of people I love. I mean taking a notable step back away from all of the stuff and a step toward the thing that matters to me the most: my sons.

I didn’t miss restaurants or going out. I didn’t miss getting dressed or wearing make-up or bras or waistbands. I didn’t miss playdates or obligations or the myriad activities I feel compelled to participate in. I didn’t miss work meetings or rigid deadlines or incessant emails or manicures. I didn’t miss forced social encounters or small talk.

It’s been two weeks since the boys have been back in school, and you know what I miss? My kids.

There are lots of reasons why it is good that our time at home has ended. This is what I tell myself, at least.

In the past few days alone, I’ve checked off a hundred items on my ever-growing to-do list. I’ve potty trained our new puppy. I’ve been a present and engaged professor to my summer students. I’ve attended meetings. I’ve conferenced with my editor about a new textbook, due in a few months. I’ve done page proof edits for another textbook, due next week. I’ve cooked meals. I’ve started an online training program. I’ve donated baby items. I’ve painted our doors the most brilliant shade of aqua. Hell, I’m writing this blog post–my first in months.

It’s good for the boys, too, to have a little more structure and a lot more social interaction. Finn starts kindergarten in 3 months–hopefully in person. Being by my side for weeks and weeks didn’t help his separation anxiety, and I’m hoping that we’re working through the ramifications of that now, back at his PreK, instead of in a few months, at his new school.

But now, having limitless alone time and freedom, I just catch myself filling it with tasks that, ultimately, aren’t as important as being with my kids. I’m wistful for our time together and worried that we may not get that kind of time together again.

I drop them off in the mornings, and I feel guilty. So, I pick them up early pretty much every single day. I use the knowledge that they can go to school the next day as a crutch, which bolsters me during evenings when they won’t listen or are whining nonstop or when they are resisting bedtime.

I think to myself, “Thank goodness they can go to school. I need a break.” Then, they go to school, and I am filled with regret.

Mostly, I’m afraid of losing the clarity I had when we were all home together. One of my favorite writers, Tim Kreider, calls it the “God’s eye view”: the renewed perspective we get after a life-changing event. The clarity that comes in the midst of crisis.

But eventually, as he writes, “Time makes us all betray ourselves and get back to the busywork of living.” I can already feel that betrayal creeping in. I can feel the return to “normalcy” start to settle.

So, I write this in hopes that I remember. “I could do this,” I thought. I could step away from everything that clouds what is important. I don’t know what that looks like, exactly, but I know it is possible.

I could do this. And we still can.

Parenting in the Time of COVID-19

You know those jokey memes that say something like, “Check on your friends with toddlers. They are not okay.”

Well, very suddenly, it’s not a joke. I am not okay.

Are you?

If, a month ago, you’d asked me what I thought I’d be blogging about right now, I would have guessed a lot of different things. But never, not in a million years, would I have told you I was going to be writing about life in the midst of a global pandemic where an estimated 60% of people on earth will be invected by a mysterious, highly contagious virus; millions will likely die; the economy will have nose-dived; businesses will have shuttered; toilet paper will have disappeared; and we can’t leave our house.

I struggle to explain the paradox that is being both obsessively (unhealthfully) attuned to news about the pandemic and strangely disassociated from the life I am currently living. I can tell you a lot about the pandemic we’re currently experiencing, but I can’t process a single second of it.

Image may contain: 1 person, sitting, shoes, table and indoor

Here’s what life looks like right now: Sona is continuing to work, per usual, but in a significantly more taxing–and more dangerous–environment. She’s in the medical field, and like with all folks in the medical field right now, it’s all hands on deck. She can’t work from home. Her hours haven’t changed. She’s gone every day, working in a place where people are daily being diagnosed with COVID-19, and then she comes home to us, worn ragged.

I’m on Spring Break. Go ahead–you can laugh. It’s disturbingly funny to think about what this week would have meant for me BCV (before coronavirus): catching up on the to-do list I’d been compiling in anticipation, writing the chapters of the memoir I’d been putting off, engaging in all sorts of frivolous self-care, relishing some “me time.”

But it’s ACV, and instead, I’m barely getting by.

While we’ve been mostly self-quarantined and social-distancing for a week, we didn’t make the final determination to pull the boys from their school, which is still open and for which we are still paying nearly 4k a month, until Monday. I know a lot of people think it should have been an easy decision, but it wasn’t.

As soon as my extended Spring Break (go ahead–laugh again) is over, classes at my college resume, and I’m in the position of offering quality online instruction to 80+ students who never signed up for–and likely are quite unprepared for–online instruction. It generally takes me weeks to build an online class. Now, I have days.

With Sona still working her normal hours, that means that I’m tasked with working my full-time job, which is in no way business as usual, and being a full-time mom to a high needs 4 year old and a typical 1 year old. So, we left them in school a couple days longer than we probably would have otherwise, giving me a couple days to get a jumpstart on my work.

This is all to say that I have only really been home with the boys for a day or two, although we haven’t left the house much in the past week. And even still, only a couple days in, I’m kind of breaking.

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I try to be very open and honest about mental health on here. It’s important, I think, to work against the stigma of mental illness, especially for women. In January, I wrote pretty openly about how I felt like I was finally turning a corner, coming out of what I now realize was a pretty significant depression during the last quarter of 2019.

Now, I am worried that things are starting to cloud a bit again. Today, I’ve felt myself really working to clear the cloud cover, and I haven’t been so successful.

Do my eyes look a little pink? Well, that’s because I woke up with double pink eye, which I contracted from Elias, who also has double pink eye, along with a stubborn 100+ fever. He hasn’t eaten for a few days, and he’s been as clingy and trying as any 1 year old with those symptoms would be.

And Finn? Well, after several months of occupational therapy, which was really helping both him and us, he’s tailspinning. What’s going on is a lot for us adults to take, but it’s a lot for kids, too. As much as we’ve tried to put on a brave face and maintain some sense of normalcy for him, everything in his little world is shifting, and he’s perceptive enough to know that something is up. Yesterday, he asked, “Do people with the virus die?” I have no idea what prompted that question, as we certainly haven’t talked mortality rates around him, but he’s no dummy.

So, his anxiety is peaking, too. He’s baby-talking, walking on tip-toes, hitting himself, and just generally displaying a lot of the behaviors that had virtually disappeared. He’s also a lot harder to manage, and I want to be the patient momma he deserves, but it’s really difficult when I’m running on emotional empty myself.

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A lot is being said about the impact social distancing will have on all of us. We’re going to have to be vigilant–about our own mental health and about the mental health of those we love. It’s easy to get lonely. But I have to say, I think the only thing lonelier than being by yourself is being the only adult with little kids. I’m spending all day trying to pretend that I’m not feeling what I’m feeling. It’s one long, unending performance, and it’s exhausting.

Parenting during the time of COVID-19 is devastatingly difficult.

It is trying to put on a brave face and feeling guilty when your mask slips.

It is making schedules and thinking up art projects and trying to assume the roles of teacher, coach, and therapist.

It is worrying whether there will be milk.

It is cooking three meals a day. Cleaning up toys constantly. Never getting a second to stop.

It is having to constantly calculate risks: Work or daycare? Park or stir-craziness? iPad or worksheets?

It is losing every single thing that makes you feel like yourself, again: podcasts in the car, reading for pleasure, relationships outside of your home.

It is never having a single minute when you aren’t on duty. And often, you are on duty as both a parent and an employee.

It is the typical mom guilt–the feeling that you never are giving anything enough attention–amplified times a thousand.

It is wondering whether your wife should sleep in another room so that you don’t get sick.

It is wondering whether, if you both get sick, someone will be able to step in and care for you children.

It is worrying, more and more, what the lasting impact of this will be. How will this shape what it means for them to be a child? What will they remember? What won’t they get to experience?

It is watching what you say and then missing honest conversation.

It is wanting to be the superhero for them but not having anyone be the superhero for you.

It is, I’m just going to say it, damn-near crippling.

And I say all this while acknowledging that Sona and I are among the privileged. We have our jobs. We won’t lose our home over this. The very foundation of our lives won’t fundamentally shift.

Even still, I’m not okay.

As a T1D, I’m immunocompromised. I have an alcoholic father with dementia who I am solely responsible for and who is completely dependent on me. I have a wife whose coworkers are being testing for COVID. Just in the past 24 hours, I’ve had to email an editor asking for an extension on an important book project and have had to back out of a work project, which burdens others quite a bit. We have no dependable family nearby, not that we could see them if we could.

It is a lot, and if I feel the way I’ve felt the past few days for much longer, I’m going to reach out and try to get some help.

And that’s, ultimately, why I’m writing this now. Not because anyone needs to hear how hard things are. We are all living it.

But this is for the other mommas out there, more than anything. Because it is the mommas who end up bearing the brunt of it–always.

I see you, Momma. Are you okay?

I want you to know that you can answer that question honestly. I want you to know: I’m not okay either.

“Motherhood is a Mental Illness”

Trust me, I am also surprised to be quoting J. Lo’s character in Hustlers without so much as a hint of irony. If you haven’t seen the movie yet, I just saved an hour and 50 minutes of your life, because this one line is the only part worth remembering. You’re welcome.

But the context of this line, which J. Lo’s character, Ramona, repeats twice throughout the movie, is essentially this: once you are a mom, you are never again not a mom. Being a mom is the thing that your entire intellectual and emotional universe will forever revolve around. Every choice you make–good or bad–will forever be informed by, damn near inseparable from, the fact of your motherhood.

So, even though the movie is pretty much shit, otherwise, I cried. I cry at a lot of movies and TV shows and books lately, all in which I am suddenly able to glean some sort of theme that links back to being a mom.

I became a mom, and everything else became about being a mom. Call it a narcissistically self-centered world view, if you must, but nonetheless, show me the most obnoxiously banal commercial about Doritos, and there’s a decent chance that I’ll be able to view it through the lens of parenthood. You’ll watch it and crave neon-orange potato chips, and I’ll watch it and reach for a box of tissues.

The other night, while watching This is Us, which in and of itself is a practice in sado-masochism, Sona looked at me and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry so much.”

She didn’t mean just in the hour that Kevin, Randall, and Kate had dug up the time capsule outside of their childhood cabin–the time capsule which was buried a few years before their father, the star of their lives, had died tragically and unexpectedly. The time capsule which contained an audio recording of the aforementioned father, played by Milo Ventimigilia, all brown puppy eyes and beard, telling each of them what he loves most about them. The time capsule which also contained a hand-drawn sketch of the dream home the father wanted to build for his family one day. (Spoiler alert: he would never build said dream home. Thanks, Crockpot.)

No, she meant over the past year or so.

I’m not sure why I’ve become exponentially more emotional as of late. It may have something to do with hormonal changes, but it probably has more to do with the fact that Elias is no longer a baby, which means, of course, that we no longer have babies.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been reduced to a proverbial puddle of tears since the second Finn was born. I was already a sentimental sap, but his entering the world really sent me over the edge.

Yet, my emotionality was always tempered by the fact that, even though I love Finn beyond measure and hated to see how quickly he was growing, I knew our family was still growing, too, and another baby would joining us, at some point.

However, that baby came. And he grew, too. And now, he’s not really a baby anymore. He’s a 36-pound toddler-man who says things like “no more momma” when I try to hug him too much.

So, I think what I’ve really been feeling over the past year is the passing of time–and too quickly. How we’ve moved past the point in our lives where we are growing a family, and now we just get to watch our family grow up. It’s a subtle shift, to most, but it’s been a difficult one for me.

Because here is the truth: motherhood is a mental illness, as much as it pains my feminist heart to say so. I have no control–absolutely none–over how desperately and fully and all-consumingly I love my sons. It is a love so big and so fiery that I can’t quite put a cap on it. It gurgles up from inside me in the most unexpected–or, lately, expected–ways.

Recently, we moved Finn’s bed to the other side of his room because he was “scared of what is outside of the window,” which was on the wall where his bed used to be positioned. In its new home in the opposite corner, Finn’s bed now sits squarely under the wall-mounted baby camera which, yes, we still use.

The monitor stays plugged into the outlet behind my nightstand, which means that every night of my life, I sleep with the glowing blue image of Finn just 8” from my face. Now that he has moved, I get a perfect aerial view of his cherubic little face, his cheeks puffed out and his lips just slightly parted as he sleeps, the sock monkey he’s loved since infancy curled tightly into the bend of his right arm.

And every night, after Sona has turned over and has fallen asleep and I finally put my phone in airplane mode, plug it in, and put my own head down, facing the monitor, I cry. Sometimes, it is just the slow, tired trickle of a tear or two. Sometimes, it’s a full-on sob, which I muffle in my pillow, because I don’t want Sona to wake up, hear me, and ask, “Are you crying about the boys again?”

Because, despite the bizarre pacing, the gratuitously indulgent fixation on pole dancing in the first 30 minutes, and some really bad wardrobe choices, J. Lo was on to something: motherhood is a mental illness. I am sick in love, and I’m not sure I can be saved. I am sick in love, and I’m not sure I want saving.