It started as a simple idea — take one boy each for a little February getaway. Alex would travel with our older son Toby, and I would whisk away Anton, age 11, along with his best friend Nick, for a few sun-drenched days. The destination? The Florida Keys, a place Anton had been begging to visit since the first signs of winter crept in. It turned out to be one of the most joyfully chaotic and surprisingly peaceful trips we’ve ever taken.
After a healthy dose of hotel research (and I mean research — reviews, amenities, location filters, the whole nine yards), I landed on Coconut Palm Inn in Key Largo. This charming bayside spot felt like the perfect fit: not too extravagant, but full of character and little touches that made it feel special from the moment we arrived.
Despite its modest price point, Coconut Palm Inn offered all the whimsical vacation perks you secretly hope for. Every morning started with muffins left at our door and fresh coffee on the patio. By midday, we were knee-deep in the hotel’s treasure trove of activities: kayaking, ping pong, biking, fishing, sunset wine hours (for the grown-ups), and sticky-fingered s’mores by a crackling fire pit. The vibe was pure summer camp — casual, communal, and filled with a revolving cast of friendly strangers who felt like fast friends.
The boys fell hard for the fishing gear and quickly became tiny dockside fishermen, armed with frozen shrimp, borrowed rods, and unsolicited (but appreciated) advice from more seasoned guests. While they practiced their casts and cheered for every bite, I happily camped out in an Adirondack chair, nose deep in a novel and grinning at their joy. It felt like a rare slice of time — the kind where no one is in a rush and the biggest decision is Coke or lemonade.
One of my favorite moments? Meeting a family who used a genius mnemonic to help people remember their names: “Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich,” said the dad. “Peter, Bonnie, Jacob, and Samuel.” I was charmed. It made me want to come up with one for our crew — maybe something involving sunshine, snacks, and sarcastic jokes.
After two breezy nights (the hotel was fully booked after that), we hit the road and headed south to Marathon. On the way, we stopped at Aquarium Encounters, a quirky little place where the boys got to pet baby alligators, hand-feed stingrays, and ogle the otherworldly patterns on tortoises’ shells. Each creature felt like a mini piece of living art — especially for two boys who couldn’t get enough of the hands-on experience.
Our next stay was at Isla Bella, a resort that looked like it had tumbled out of a travel magazine. Five pools, palm trees swaying, daily activities ranging from bingo to trivia — the works. It was definitely a step up in luxury, but it came with some caveats. Resort fees stacked up quickly, and to top it off, we were given a smaller room than the one I’d booked. When I tried to get it sorted, I found myself getting passed from front desk staff to invisible managers like a guest star on The White Lotus. In the end, I let it go. The beach was lovely, the sunsets golden, and the boys were perfectly content throwing a football around in the pool for hours on end.
We met a family from Dublin whose mother described the boys as “good fun” — a turn of phrase I found delightfully wholesome and very accurate. Watching them splash and laugh and play reminded me that sometimes a trip isn’t about getting everything just right, but about letting the little moments breathe.
On our way back to the airport, we drove through a fast-food chain and made one final discovery — what we’re convinced was the world’s longest French fry. Naturally, we treated it like a sacred relic, documenting its glorious length with more enthusiasm than some museums receive.
Looking back, I wasn’t sure what to expect traveling solo with two 11-year-olds. Would they bicker nonstop? Would I get any time to read? Would I end the trip needing a second vacation to recover? But honestly, they were the best companions. Old enough to be independent, young enough to still laugh at my dumb jokes (or at least mutter “lohl” with a smirk). They wanted to hang out, share inside jokes, and tell me every funny thing they saw. It was a perfect balance of freedom and togetherness.
Florida, thank you. For the sunshine, for the shrimp, for the tortoises and that ridiculous French fry. You gave us what we needed: warmth, laughter, and a pause from the long winter stretch. And for that, we’re already dreaming of our next escape.
