In the summer of 2012, my fifteen-year-old daughter, Mia, eagerly convinced me to embark on a trip to Montauk Point. Having spent her entire life on the opposite side of Long Island, we had never explored “The End.” We almost made it during a few Girl Scout camping trips, but the farthest point east, known for its charming lighthouse and museum, was still uncharted territory for us. It felt like a must-do adventure.
We transformed our day into an exciting escapade, beginning with a scrumptious breakfast on the go, getting drenched in unexpected downpours, and finally arriving to a beautiful, clearing sky. Climbing the lighthouse, exploring the museum, snapping pictures, lounging on the beach, and wandering around made it a memorable experience. It quickly became a cherished spot for us, and we promised to return for the holiday lighting that takes place the weekend after Thanksgiving.
This Thanksgiving was poised to be significant. My eldest, Sarah, was coming home from college with her girlfriend, who would soon become her fiancée. It was Tara’s first holiday spent with our family of six.
I had grand plans for the weekend. Sarah and Tara would spend the morning with my three-year-old, Lily, while I whipped up the Thanksgiving feast. They would also bond with Mia and my twelve-year-old son, Ryan. The whole family, including my in-laws, would gather for Thanksgiving dinner. Later that evening, we planned to catch a movie together. The following day was exclusively reserved for Montauk—just me and the girls. Saturday was set aside for decorating the Christmas tree, reminiscing about our favorite ornaments while sipping hot cocoa to festive tunes.
Most of the weekend went according to plan, but the Montauk trip wasn’t quite as I had pictured. The drive took about two and a half hours, and arriving later in the day to catch the lighting left us with little time to explore. Bathroom breaks and food stops added to my stress about making it there on time. We finally arrived, only to be greeted by frigid winds. We found a decent spot to watch the lighting, caught a glimpse of Santa, but didn’t linger for long. I found myself disoriented in the dark, navigating back to the car while Lily fussed about being cold, scared, and lost.
The return trip was quite the adventure in itself. Lily had a cold, complete with a runny nose, and due to her sensory sensitivities, I was the only one allowed to wipe her nose. From the backseat came a constant chorus of “You g’ wipe my nose?” I patiently explained that I was driving and that one of the older girls could help her instead, but that just wasn’t an option. “You g’ wipe my nose. We g’ walk fast home. Then I be happy.” This repeated mantra filled the car, mixed with laughter from the backseat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she relented and let one of the older girls assist her. From then on, it turned into a game of “Here, catch!” as she tossed her used tissues toward the front seat—or more often, at the back of my head. Not exactly the peaceful drive I had envisioned!
After the weekend wrapped up, I checked in with Sarah over the phone to see how she and Tara enjoyed their time with us. To my surprise, she said they had an absolutely fantastic time. Curious about Tara’s favorite moment, I was taken aback by her response.
It wasn’t the carefully crafted Thanksgiving dinner that managed to appease both my turkey-loving in-laws and my vegan daughters. It wasn’t the thrilling night at the theater watching “Breaking Dawn,” nor was it the delightful moments at the playground with little Lily. Nope, Tara’s favorite part of the entire weekend was our trip to Montauk.
“Really?” I asked, baffled. “The long drive, the brief visit, the freezing temperatures, and Lily’s antics in the car?”
“It was magical,” Sarah explained. The joy came from our car ride, belting out Christmas songs together, the crisp night air by the rocks with the moonlight sparkling on the water, the perfect timing of witnessing the lighthouse lighting up, and of course, Lily’s hilarious antics added the cherry on top.
As mothers, we often think it’s our duty to create holiday magic. However, my Montauk adventure taught me that true magic is spontaneous, blossoming in the hearts of our kids (and their guests). All it takes is to invest our time and remain open to those moments.
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In summary, sometimes the most unexpected moments turn into the most cherished memories. It’s the laughter, the joy in the journey, and the togetherness that create the magic we seek.