After weeks of hopping on and off airplanes, living out of hotel rooms, and trying to perfect an in-flight routine that still hasn’t quite clicked, I can finally say it: I’m home for a while. And honestly, it feels incredible. Don’t get me wrong—I love the travel that comes with my work. I wouldn’t leave my kids unless I knew it was for something meaningful. But truthfully, the airplane life was never really me. No matter how many times I tweak my rituals—hydrating like crazy, wearing the coziest socks, trying to master the art of sleeping upright—I still step off every flight wishing I had done it better.
So now, I have a month to breathe. A month to recharge before the next trip—this time with the kids in tow. That’s a whole adventure waiting to be told, but today is about something simpler, something I treasure even more than stamps on my passport: time together as a family.
The older my children get, the more they blend into my world. They tag along more easily now, sometimes joining me on work trips, and at home, they’ve become my favorite little photography muses. Still, I try to keep their appearances here minimal—it’s a balance I’m always navigating. And while I love sharing snippets of our lives, I’ll say it once more: please be kind. There’s no room for negativity in this space, and certainly no need to “rescue” my kids from the life Kevin and I are building for them. They are happy, confident, and growing into exactly who they’re meant to be. That, to me, is everything.
But let’s shift the lens back to the present—to Bellport, New York, where we escaped this past weekend. After long stretches away for work, I crave nothing more than a little pause button. And while far-off destinations sit waiting on my travel bucket list, when I’m not flying for work, the last thing I want is to step foot in an airport. So instead, we pack up the car, point it away from Manhattan, and head somewhere close enough to feel easy but far enough to breathe differently.
Enter Bellport. Just an hour and a half from the city, this little Long Island town feels like stepping into another era. Colonial homes with white picket fences line the streets, neighbors wave like old friends, and there’s a certain calmness in the air that softens even the most high-strung, city-paced heartbeat. It’s not about ticking off to-do lists here. We don’t schedule much when we come—it’s more about leaning into the rhythm of slow, simple days. Still, there are a few rituals we can’t seem to skip.
First stop: Carla Marla’s ice cream parlor.
If you’ve ever arrived in a car full of kids after a summer drive longer than ninety minutes, you’ll understand why this stop is non-negotiable. Our beloved Jeep Cherokee, which we bought years ago in Bellport (without realizing how much we’d come to adore the town), still runs beautifully… except for the AC, which quit six months after we brought it home. Fixing it would cost a fortune, so here we are, braving the summer heat with windows down, hoping the breeze will keep the meltdowns at bay. Spoiler: it doesn’t always work.
By the time we roll into Bellport, everyone’s more than ready for a sweet reward. Carla Marla’s is a tiny, old-fashioned ice cream shop, the kind of place where time feels suspended. The pastel-painted storefront, the cheerful staff, the smell of sugar in the air—it’s impossible not to smile the second you walk in. One scoop of mint chip or a little bag of candy works wonders on cranky moods (mine included). And yes, the place is as photogenic as it sounds. Sitting outside with cones in hand, you almost forget the sweat and sibling squabbles of the drive. Almost.
And that’s really the magic of Bellport. It’s not about grand itineraries or overstuffed agendas. It’s about the reset that comes from trading concrete and skyscrapers for white fences and wide skies. About finding joy in something as simple as sharing an ice cream cone with the people you love most.
Every time we visit, I’m reminded how important it is to carve out these moments, especially in the midst of a life that often feels like it’s rushing forward at full speed. Work will always be there, flights will always be booked, and routines—no matter how many times I try—will never be perfect. But here, with Kevin and the kids, none of that matters.
Instead, what matters is this: the sticky fingers from melting cones, the laughter echoing down quiet streets, the stories shared in a car that may not have air conditioning but carries more memories than I can count.
For now, Bellport is enough. More than enough. It’s exactly what I need—a reminder that the simplest escapes are sometimes the sweetest.
