The Gift That Couldn't Be Wrapped, Episode I

Scavenger Hunts, Candy, and Armbands

At some point, we realized our kids weren’t going to remember the pile of wrapping paper. They weren’t going to recall the toy that broke three weeks later or the hoodie that ended up in the lost-and-found at school. What they did remember—what we remembered—were the moments. The inside jokes. The “remember when…” stories that came up at the dinner table months later.

So in 2022, we decided to start shifting from stuff to stories. We were going to start choosing memories over materials, even if it meant making sacrifices—or hopping on a plane with four kids in December.

This is that story. Part 1 of 4.

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In the fall of 2022, Karen and I made a quiet but radical decision: we were going to start prioritizing memories over material things. Our kids were getting older, and we realized something strange—when we’d ask what they got for Christmas or birthdays the year before, they’d hesitate. Sometimes they couldn’t even remember.

But they always remembered the moments. The late-night movie marathons. The long car rides with too many snack wrappers. The time we all got sunburned at the beach because someone (me) forgot the sunscreen.

So that year, we made a bold choice. The kind that would take a while to financially recover from.

We were going to Disney World. All six of us. In December. As a complete surprise.

We booked the trip, made the plans, and when those MagicBands arrived in the mail, we hid them like they were the crown jewels. (Not hard—our kids are smart, but not snoop-through-the-junk-drawer smart.)

On the day of the trip, while the kids were at school, we packed their bags, loaded the minivan, and got everything ready for Operation Surprise. Karen—the queen of creativity—crafted a neighborhood scavenger hunt that ended in our backyard, where a giant box waited with a band for each kid and a personal note inside.

Brighton, our avid reader, tore through his note like he was skimming a novel. Then he looked up with that sly, knowing smile he gets when he’s two steps ahead. Being the good big brother, he held the moment long enough for the younger ones to catch up.

Chloe looked up next, her eyes wide.

“We’re going to Disney World?”
I smiled. “Yep.”
“When?” she asked.
I shrugged. “When do y’all want to go?”
Sophie didn’t miss a beat: “NOW!”
I nodded. “OK.”

They laughed, half not believing me—until Karen added, “Your suitcases are already packed. They’re in the van. We’re flying to Orlando tonight.”

Grayson, our youngest, was completely unfazed by the Disney reveal. The only thing he cared about in that moment was the candy we’d hidden in the box. While his siblings were losing their minds, he was digging for gummies like it was Halloween.

Once we got inside and started gathering everything to leave, Chloe came downstairs. We noticed she was quiet—tears starting to form. We asked her what was wrong.

“I’m just so happy,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re going. This is like a dream.”

And just like that, our Christmas trip to Disney World began—with a cardboard box, a few scavenger clues, a bag of candy, and a memory that still sparkles louder than anything we could’ve ever wrapped.