Grab your popcorn—this is where the universe reveals a celestial “plot twist!”. Because apparently, the Lord works in mysterious ways… and sometimes through moms who forget to book flights.
It’s Thanksgiving 2004. A Tofurky is roasting in the oven, pumpkin pies are cooling, and I am blissfully unaware that I have completely forgotten to plan our winter family vacation. Yes, it was my turn to handle the travel arrangements and hotel bookings for what we had all agreed would be a fabulous trip to Thailand. The beaches, the sun, the coconut drinks… and yes, I dropped the ball!
You see, I wasn’t exactly into international trips with the kids. Too much packing, too much unpacking, assigning house-sitting duties, watering plants, juggling work emails while you’re jet-lagged and staring at a palm tree. Too many “Mom, he breathed on me!” complaints. And worst of all: responsibility.
So, in a moment of desperation, I called AAA. Because nothing says “world explorer” like outsourcing it to someone who also maps road trips to Costco.
Me: “Hi, can you send us to Thailand? …Tomorrow?”
AAA agent, channeling Mother Teresa-levels of patience:
“Ma’am,” she said gently, “getting you a last-minute flight to Thailand in peak holiday season would be about as likely as Moses parting the Red Sea twice on a weekday.”
Instead, she offered Italy. Italy! Not tropical, not palm-fringed, not Thailand. But hey—pasta instead of pad thai may not be the worst trade-off. I had no choice but to accept my fate, and off we went—bundled up in winter coats instead of flip-flops, navigating the cold, bitter reality that we weren’t lounging on a beach but instead trudging through Venice on freezing Vaporetto rides.
The kids looked at me like I had ruined their childhood and Christmas at the same time. They preferred playing cards in the warm hotel room to trudging through ancient ruins. It was clear they weren’t fans of the whole “holiday experience” I had curated.
But on Christmas Day, we decided it was time to drag them out of their cozy rooms and take them to the Vatican for the Pope’s blessing! It drizzled, we shivered, but Pope Jean Paul II—God bless him—came out and blessed the crowd in 62 languages. It was exhilarating. The kids were freezing, probably cursing me under their breath, but at least they had a story for later… right?
Fast-forward to the next morning: December 26th, 2004. We woke up to the BBC, expecting Vatican glory coverage, perhaps even a glimpse of ourselves. Instead—breaking news. At 1:58 a.m. that morning, while we were fast asleep after our Vatican adventure, the Indonesian tsunami had struck! The news was all about Phuket, giant waves, devastation. Entire coastlines swallowed. The very place we were supposed to be. The very place I had, in my infinite “planning brilliance,” failed to book.
Suddenly, my “failure” glowed like a halo above my head. The family stared at me—not with annoyance, but awe. Like maybe I had channeled something divine. Were we somehow an example of a miracle? “Holy crap, I might have actually saved our lives.”
And that, my friends, is how last-minute procrastination turned into an unintentional stroke of genius. I guess sometimes it’s better to be lucky than organized.
Moral of the story: Sometimes God’s plan shows up disguised as forgetfulness and an AAA vacation package you didn’t want.
